


Welcome to the Jungle

by paintsplatteredteardrops



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Drug Use, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotionally Repressed, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Punk Louis, zayn is dating perrie and liam is dating danielle but there's barely any of either pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 128,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintsplatteredteardrops/pseuds/paintsplatteredteardrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Louis' a tattooed punk with a heart of ice who needs too little and Harry's just a kid with eyes too wide and too bright who needs too much and maybe all they really need is each other. Or maybe not. Maybe it's all about the blowjobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this posted here but I'm a fucking idiot and accidentally deleted it. Ugh. So now I'm re-posting. This fic is also on Tumblr, my URL is volouminous. Please send feedback, I love hearing what you all think. Hope you enjoy x

“It’s going to be fine, Harry," Anne told her son, as they sat in her car in the driveway of their new home.

Harry’s fingers were clammy and shaking, balled tightly into fists, pressing into his thighs. “What if they think I’m weird?” He muttered meekly, eyes cast downward.

She reached over and opened his hands, slipping hers between his fingers and giving it a tight squeeze. “You’re not weird, sweetheart. You’re handsome and charming and wonderful and everyone’s going to love you.”

“But I’m not!” He whined, crossing his arms glumly over his chest. “I’m weird. I listen to weird music and talk about weird things and my hair curls in weird directions and I’m just… weird.” A stray curl fell from beneath his beanie into his eye. He huffed at it, but it simply fell back in front of his face.

Anne sighed and lifted her hand to tuck the curl back under his hat. She grabbed his jaw gently and turned his head to look her in the eye. “Now, you listen here, you miserable oaf”, she said, only half-serious, “the more miserable you look walking through those halls, people are not going to think you’re weird, they’re going to think you want to kill them. That’s not exactly gonna help you make new friends, is it? And what’s so wrong with being weird anyway? Normal is no fun. It’s boring. Now, you’re a great kid. You really are, and if those kids can’t see that, well, who cares? You’ve got me. I’ll be your friend. Just go there and do what you have to do and then you can complain all about it when you get home. All right?” She smiled brightly at him, pulling off his beanie and ruffling his hair.

It earned a smile from him, and seemed to lift his spirits a bit. “If you say so," he said, shrugging and shifting downward in his seat.

“All right, we off then?”

*

Harry’s nerves returned, despite his mum’s pep talk, when he stood outside his first classroom, transfer papers clutched nervously between his fingers, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He was 5 minutes late already, but he was too apprehensive about the faces behind the door, the gazes that would fall on him when he stepped in, judgement in their eyes. He pictured them leaning over to their friends, whispering to each other about his funny hair, his big nose, and his voice that was too deep for his face.

He swallowed thickly when he saw a teacher approaching in his direction, reaching for the door and almost thrusting himself into the classroom. He tripped over his own feet as he entered, nearly dropping his papers. The heads of the teens in the room snapped toward him in unison, eyebrows raising, smirks forming across their lips, multiple kids covering their mouths with their hands to avoid laughing. Harry’s cheeks flamed. ‘Of course this would happen to me’, he thought. ‘Of fucking course’.

He walked toward his teacher with his hand down, handing her his papers and muttering a quiet, “Hello”, before turning his gaze to his sneakers.

The teacher, a tall, thin woman with gaunt cheekbones, pin-straight black hair, and cold blue eyes regarded the papers, before returning her eyes to study him. “Styles, is it?” She said sternly. He nodded. “I’m Ms. Whinshaw. This is Harry Styles”, she spoke to the class, stepping sideways and holding her arms out to him. “He’s new at this school, and I don’t believe he’s been shown his way around yet. Anybody willing to give him a little tour?”

The class was silent, regarding Harry with careful eyes. They seemed to be sizing him up. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, allowing his own eyes to scan across the classroom, in search of potential mates. Nobody particularly caught his eye, their features bland combinations of blonde-and-blue-eyed, dark-skinned-and-brunette, the occasional girl who wore too much eye make-up, and the guy with the obnoxious, oversized Varsity jacket. The silence continued until Harry’s eyes stopped dead in their tracks, spotting a boy in the back of the classroom who looked like he’d just jumped out of a music video.

He looked too old to be in year 10, with his sculpted cheekbones and prominent jaw line. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat as he continued to observe the boy, who had a toothpick between his teeth and seemed to be regarding him with the same curious eyes. He lifted his arms to rest on his desk, revealing a plethora of intricate tattoos covering his arms from bicep to wrist. His skin was pierced in multiple places, his eyebrow, his ears, his lip, his nose, even his cheekbone. Harry was completely awestruck.

The boy, who beneath the tattoos and piercings and thick line of eyeliner that rimmed his eyes, was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, continued to hold his gaze, before a smirk slowly formed on his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his tattooed arm slowly, leaning back in his chair and nodding his head toward Harry.

“I’ll do it," he called. His voice was much higher and sweeter than Harry had anticipated.

Ms. Whinshaw looked absolutely stunned. She stared at him, her mouth agape for a moment, before sputtering, “Mr. Tomlinson, this is the first time you’ve shown interest in anything other than your iPod and the back of your hand all semester.” She seemed slightly offended, even.

“What can I say, I’m always willing to help out those less fortunate," he deadpanned, returning his gaze to Harry’s face and giving him a sly smile.

“Well, Mr. Styles, go take a seat behind Tomlinson. I’d tell you to borrow his notes to catch up, but I’m afraid he more than likely doesn’t have any," she asserted, tossing a glare in the kid’s direction. He saluted to her cheekily.

Harry nodded and walked hastily to the back of the classroom, feeling the kid’s eyes burn into him. He placed his backpack on his desk and began shakily removing his papers and pens, trying his best to avoid his gaze.

“Ahem," he heard the voice, which was already too familiar to him, clear his throat. “Are you going to introduce yourself, since I’m now your tour buddy?”

Harry turned his head, taking in his grinning face. He felt his cheeks flush again; this boy was just so attractive. ‘Since when do I have a thing for tattooed punk rockers?’ He thinks desperately, mentally smacking himself. “Uh, I’m pretty sure you already know my name," he stuttered.

He considered this for a moment, before shrugging and extending his hand. “Touché. I’m Louis.”

Harry extended his own and shook the boy’s - Louis’s - hand quickly, his skin burning at the contact. “Louis. That’s, that’s a nice name. I like it.”

Louis laughed, before his gaze darkened and he leaned closer. “Hopefully that’s not the only thing about me you like," he half-whispered, “because I’m hoping we can become very good friends.” He winked at him, before looking back to the front of the classroom, where Mrs. Whinshaw had begun writing on the chalkboard.

As she rambled about the presence of anti-Semitism in Shakespeare’s play, The Merchant of Venice, Harry sunk his chair, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to pass this class with that sitting beside him. He snuck another glance at Louis, who was still smirking at him, the toothpick returned to his mouth.

_‘Fuck.'_


	2. Chapter 2

“So, when’s your lunch?” Louis asked after the bell rang, poking Harry with his pen, with which he had spent the entire period drawing anarchy symbols on his notebook.

“Uh,” Harry murmured, shuffling through his papers to find his schedule. He put his glasses back on to see the print. “Fourth period.”

“Shit, I’ve got drama that period,” he cursed, slamming his fist against Harry’s desk in mock anger. Harry flinched. “Oh well, looks like I’m gonna need to miss it today.” He winked again.

“Can’t you get in trouble for that?” Harry wondered aloud, his eyes wide and lips parted.

Louis laughed loudly, a hyper, exuberant sound. Harry’s heart stuttered in his chest. “You’ve never skipped a day in your life, have you?”

Harry shook his head. “Do I really look like the type?”

Louis smiled, flicking his glasses and patting his beanie-covered head. “No, you look like a good boy. Always eats his vegetables, always brushes his teeth before bed. Always says I love you to mommy before he turns out the light,” he teased, pinching Harry’s cheek.

Harry swatted his hand away, annoyed at Louis’s patronization. “Oh, piss off. For all you know I could be, you know…” Harry’s clever retort floated to the back of his mind when Louis smirked and raised his eyebrows at him. He felt a bit sweaty all of a sudden. “Fuck it,” he muttered in defeat, zipping his backpack and making his way toward the door.

“Hey”, Louis called after him. “Come on, I was just taking the piss. Chill out. Look, meet me out front at 4th period, all right?”

Harry sighed. “All right. But don’t be cheeky.”

Louis smirked, ruffling his hair once more and making his way into the hallway, sticking his headphones over his ears and his hands in the pockets of his tight jeans.

Harry definitely did not check out his arse as he walked away.

And it was definitely not the nicest arse he’d ever seen.

*

Harry kept quiet in the rest of his classes, introducing himself with a curt, disinterested wave, and a muttered, “Hi, ‘m Harry”. It wasn’t until halfway through second period that he realized he had forgotten to put on his glasses and was staring blankly at the chalkboard, the equations his maths teacher sketched out a fuzzy blur. Even when he slid them over his nose and settled into his chair to pay attention, he couldn’t bring himself to focus. He was distracted. Very distracted.

The thing was, Harry had always known he’d liked guys. He had kissed girls before, but found himself unimpressed by their flowery perfume and sticky, glossy lips and short skirts. His family had told him he’d grow into it, but he knew, when he watched his sister’s school football team, the boys running around the feels, their leg muscles pumping, jerseys sticking to their sweaty biceps, abs peaking through the thin fabric, that would never be the case.

What he didn’t know, was that he apparently had a thing for brooding punk rebels with too many piercings and too many tattoos who wore jeans so tight their ass and dick must suffocate. Harry licked his lips at the image of Louis, toothpick rolling between his teeth, an insidious smirk pulling at his lips. Harry groaned in frustration, ignoring the confused stares and raised eyebrows he got from everyone in response, and sunk lower into his chair.

He was barely 3 hours into his first day, and he already had a crush.

‘This is my life,’ he thought, staring at the clock, willing 4th period to hurry the fuck up.

*

The time finally came, and Harry had to force himself not to run to the front of the school. He didn’t want to come across too eager, so he made a stop at the bathroom to pass some time. When he finally walked outside, he found Louis standing next to the door, smoking a cigarette and fiddling with his phone.

Harry swallowed and approached him. “Isn’t it a bit, uh, ill-advised to smoke on school property?”

Louis grinned, his eyes remaining on his phone as he typed a text message with one hand and took a drag with the other. “Do I really look like someone who follows the rules?” He said, lifting his head and squinting his eyes at Harry.

Harry shook his head. “Uh, no, I guess not,” he muttered.

Chuckling, Louis slipped his phone in his pocket (‘It’s a wonder it fits’), throwing the cigarette butt over his head and into the parking lot. “All right, virgin, let’s go get you situated.”

Harry gaped at him, sputtering incoherently, and Louis chuckled and threw an arm around his shoulders, leading him inside.

*

They scoped the hallways quickly, Louis pointing out the different departments lazily while taking the piss out of every group of people they passed by. Harry stayed silent for majority of the tour, snickering when Louis mocked the hoards of jocks and preps that crossed their path. The school was fairly big, long hallways and sleek décor, every hall seeming to lead to another winding staircase. Harry tried his best not to get overwhelmed, but he had to admit the place was a little intimidating. Louis stayed close to him the entire time, his shoulder brushing Harry’s every now and again, even bringing him arm up along Harry’s back to guide him a few times. Harry ignored the way his skin felt like it was being electrocuted at his touch.

When they made it back to the first floor, Louis ushered Harry outside and lead him to what he assumed was the smoker’s pit. It was a small staircase, with two railings on either side, leading to the front of the school. There were a few kids at the bottom, sharing what appeared to be a joint, given the strong, skunk-like scent in the air. Harry knew he could be considered naïve, but he wasn’t stupid.

Louis lit a cigarette and leaned against the railing, tilting his head and sizing Harry up. Harry, feeling a bit exposed, leaned back onto the other, attempting to hold Louis’s stare confidently, but his quivering lip gave him away. He chose to avert his eyes to their trademark location; his feet.

“So,” Louis prodded. Harry’s head snapped up. “What’s the story, Harry? Judging from your accent, it looks like you’re not from around here.”

Harry kicked at the pavement with the toe of his shoe. If he didn’t feel exposed before, he was almost naked now. “Judging from yours, neither are you”, he replied, trying to keep his voice even.

Louis chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, but I asked you first. So, go on then. We’ve got about”, he checked his watch, “another half hour or so to kill. Enlighten me.”

Harry sighed deeply, hoisting himself up to sit on the railing. “All right. Well, I’m from Holmes Chapel. In Cheshire…”

“Yeah, I know where it is.”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?” Harry snapped. Louis raised his hands in defence, gesturing for him to continue. Harry wasn’t annoyed at him; he just hated how obviously nervous he was. It felt like Louis could see right through him, could see and feel how fast his heart was beating, how hard it was to keep cool. He shook himself, pulling himself together and clearing his throat before continuing. “I grew up there. I’ve got a sister. Gemma. She’s older. My mum and dad never did get along, really. They were always fighting and stuff, but they stayed together because they didn’t want to hurt us, you know? Which is a load of bullshit if you ask me. What’s more hurtful, really? Staying together and yelling at each other all the time, or splitting up and teaching your kids not to stay in bad situations just because they feel like they’re stuck?”

Louis seemed a bit taken aback by Harry’s outburst, but nodded along and nonetheless appeared interested.

Harry swallowed, his eyes suddenly drawn to the way Louis’s biceps bulged as he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Fuck, he’s perfect.’ When he realized he’d been staring for too long, he coughed loudly and shook himself once again.

Louis laughed at the image. “Is that like, a nervous habit or something?”

“What?” Harry inquired, mortified.

“Shaking yourself,” Louis said, mimicking his movements.

“Oh. No. That’s just, that’s just how I collect my thoughts,” he joked, laughing nervously. “Anyways, uh, yeah. They got divorced a few months back. My mum got custody of me, my dad got my sister, they kept our old house, and here I am.” He shrugged. “I’m kind of a nerd, to be honest. I like reading and writing and video games and stuff. I like school. I’m good at it. So that’s probably a lot of things we don’t have in common.”

Louis grinned. “Yeah, you bet.” His eyes, which Harry noted were a miraculous shade of blue, turned pensive for a moment. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Harry gulped. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“What?”

“20 questions. Back and forth,” Harry said, a nervous quiver in his voice. His eyes searched Louis’s face.

He grinned mischievously. “Go for it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harry began with the inquiry that had been nagging him the most.

“You look a bit old for 16. Were you held back?”

Louis smirked. “Very perceptive of you, Hazza.” Harry raised his eyebrows. Did Louis always assign nicknames to people he had just met? “I’m 18. Failed a few classes in year 10, dropped out for a year, my mum forced me to come back. Said she’d kick me out if I didn’t.”

“So you’re gonna be in high school till you’re 21?”

“Whoa, slow down there, Curly, one question at a time.” Grinning, Louis tapped his chin with his index finger, pretending to think. “How old were you…,” he started, smile devilish, “when you had your first wank?”

Harry jolted backward, an incredulous look crossing his features. “That’s a little personal, innit?” He sputtered defensively, blushing.

Louis howled with laughter, clapping his hands like a seal. “You never said there were limits. Now tell me, how old were you, and to what?” Louis lifted his eyebrows suggestively a few times.

“11,” Harry mumbled after a long pause, avoiding eye contact. “To… an article…” There was another long, stretching pause.

“An article…” Louis prodded. “Of clothing? Oh god, Harry, don’t tell me you found a pair of knickers when you were snooping in the girls’ locker room…”

“No!” Harry protested, flailing his arms about. “What kind of pathetic sod do you think I am?”

Louis chuckled, shaking his head. “Are you always this serious?”

Harry was quickly growing annoyed, and decided to be completely honest, as it was clearly what Louis was gunning for. Bravely meeting his eyes, Harry elaborated. “It was an article… about David Beckham.”

Louis’s mouth fell open, surprised, amused, and oddly pleased. Even a bit impressed.

Before he could comment, Harry challenged him. “What about you? Same question.”

Louis leaned backward, looking Harry up and down, his expression smug. “12,” he said slowly. “Dave Nevarro.”

Harry grinned back. Maybe they had more in common than he initially thought.

Louis was clearly enjoying himself, which made Harry’s stomach flutter with pleasure. “So is it blokes and birds, or just blokes, then?”

Harry flushed. It wasn’t as if he’d never come out before; he’d told his mum and dad when he was 15, and Gemma knew before he did. But he’d never said anything to a complete stranger before. However, he figured, considering the game he himself had chosen, and Louis’s obviously… liberal personality, he should have expected he’d have to get a little personal. “Uh”, he started, “just… just blokes.” Louis nodded, still grinning. “I’m guessing it’s the, uh, same for you, then?”

He nodded again. “I hope you know that counts as a question,” he chimed, “and that means I get to ask another… How many people have you kissed? Girls or boys?”

Harry blushed furiously once again, cursing his pale skin for so clearly displaying his embarrassment. “Why,” he stammered indignantly, “why are all these questions about sex?”

“Last time I checked,” Louis deadpanned, “snogging and masturbation have no absolutely no relation to sexual intercourse.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but any arguments he had died on his tongue. “Fine”, he huffed, fidgeting with his fingers. “A few… girls here and there. And maybe a bloke or two,” he added, mumbling the last part. “How do your parents feel… about all your tattoos?”

Louis shrugged apathetically. “They don’t really care, to be honest. They’re just happy I showed a bit of interest in something besides loud music and porn,” he said, eying Harry wickedly as he said the last bit. Harry squirmed, the sight of which caused the corners of Louis’s lips to quirk upward.

“Do you like my tattoos?” He asked, voice low.

Harry blanched, staring at him like a deer in headlights. He stammered for a few moments, which amused Louis, before speaking. “Uh, I’ve never really, uh, seen them up close or had time to inspect them, really.”

Louis hopped off the railing and walked over to Harry, his eyes boring intensely into his. Harry tried to ignore the way his breath grew ragged at the prolonged eye contact. He gulped as Louis pulled up his short sleeves and ran his hand along his ink-covered bicep. The art was astounding; skulls and snakes and a grim reaper surrounded by vines scattering the length of his arm. Harry inspected each tattoo carefully, wanting desperately to reach over and brush his fingers across Louis’s tanned sin.

Still hovering over him, Louis raised his eyebrows, encouraging Harry to answer the question.

He cleared his throat several times, backing further against the railing, the close proximity becoming too much for his body to handle. “Yeah, they - they look cool. I don’t really, you know, like tattoos that much. Not for, like, myself you know. I’d never get a tattoo, I don’t think I’d be able to - to pull it off. But - but on the right person, yeah, totally, totally cool. Yours are great. Suits you. Totally.” Harry wanted to strangle himself.

“Totally,” he teased, smirking down at Harry. He rolled down his sleeves carefully, not breaking eye contact, before pulling another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. “Look, Harry, this has been fun, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to cut this little game short. I’ve got to meet up with somebody before next period.”

Harry was both disappointed and relieved, releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “Sure, sure, that’s all right, perfectly all right,” he said, a little too quickly, as Louis backed away. He sprang up, picking up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulders.

“It’s about to start soon anyway,” he said, taking out his phone. “Don’t want to ruin your good boy reputation by being late on the first day, eh?”

Harry scoffed. “I’m really not as perfect as you think I am,” he murmured, swaying on both feet and kicking the ground.

“Is that so?”

“You don’t even know me.”

Louis looked up from his phone and smiled wickedly. “Is that a challenge?” He hopped off the platform into the parking lot and walked away. He turned and waved before jogging off. “I’ll be seeing you, Harry Styles.”

Harry could’ve sworn he saw him wink at him.

He didn’t move for a whole 2 minutes.

He was totally fucked.

*

Harry spent the remainder of the day a twitchy, agitated mess. He couldn’t get the intensity of Louis’s eyes out of his mind, the way their deep blue depths seemed to stare through him. Harry felt violated, taken advantage of, even mocked, but at the same time, struggled to find any malice in Louis’s teasing. He was playful, light-hearted, teasing. Harry didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted.

This confusion stayed with him for the rest of the day, and he thanked God he had no homework, as there was zero possibility he’d be able to focus. His mum noticed his distraction when she picked him up after school, but Harry brushed it off as exhaustion. He was quiet at dinner, answering her inquiries about his first day with indifferent, one-word answers, staring at the peas on his plate as if he could move them telepathically.

He was frustrated. Nobody had ever had this immediate of an effect on him before, especially not a rebellious, gratuitously-inked near high school drop-out with no respect for school rules. However, he was also intrigued. Most people never showed any interest in him, but Louis seemed to, if the way he was looking at him was any indication. The cynical part of his brain was telling him Louis was just winding him up, that he could sense Harry’s obvious attraction to him and played along just to take the piss. But there was something else screaming at him that that wasn’t the case.

The thought kept him awake most of the night, tossing and turning in a fit of sexual frustration. He knew he couldn’t just avoid Louis, since he sat next to him in first period and couldn’t change seats without making himself look like an awkward fuck, but he found he really didn’t want to. Although being around Louis made him nervous and anxious, he was also the most exciting thing to happen to him in a while. And he was willing to be taken on whatever ride Louis had in mind.

This didn’t make him any less scared.

*

Harry arrived to school the next day overtired and extremely irritated, having taken 3 hours to fall asleep, and sleeping in 20 minutes past his alarm. He trudged into class, his eyes drooping and mouth hung open slightly. He was too lazy to seek out Louis, but nonetheless noticed his gaze lift and eyes lift up when he walked into the room. He squeezed through several rows of desks to get to his seat, interrupting a conversation between two loud, obnoxious girls, who squawked a protest at him. He wasn’t bothered to care, and simply sat down, plopping his bag on his desk and unzipping the smallest pocket, pulling out his glasses.

He saw Louis smirk at him out of the corner of his eye, watching him, and he snapped his head toward him, mouthing a frantic, “What?”

Louis grinned and reached over to grab Harry’s arm, pulling it toward him and dropping it over his desk. Before Harry could protest, Louis had pulled a black sharpie from his pocket, pinning Harry’s arm down with his other hand. Harry’s eyes shifted to the front of the class, where Mrs. Whinshaw was writing the word of the day on the chalkboard, facing away from the class.

Looking back at Louis, who was holding Harry’s arm down rather forcefully, his tongue peaking out through his lips in concentration, as he drew careful lines on Harry’s skin, he waited anxiously for him to finish. The tiny, irrational part of his brain hoped he was writing his phone number, but the smart part realized it was unlikely, as the lines felt far too long and complex to be simple digits.

When Louis was done, he grinned at him and closed the sharpie, releasing Harry’s arm and sinking back into his chair, a sly smirk crossing his lips. His arm returned, Harry stared at Louis’s doodle and gasped, his eyes widening. In bold, black marker, in the centre of his forearm, Louis had drawn an unmistakable swastika. Harry sputtered dramatically, leaning over to swat at Louis’s hard bicep. Louis erupted into a fit of laughter.

“You fucking prat!” Harry whispered, and unfortunately for him, Mrs. Whinshaw had turned around at the sound of Louis in hysterics, and heard him curse.

“Styles! Tomlinson!” She shouted. Harry’s head snapped toward her, while Louis just continued to laugh. “That is enough! One more indiscretion and I’ll be seeing both of you after school!”

Louis appeared unfazed by her threat, but Harry nodded dutifully.

She rolled her eyes and returned to her desk, assigning the next few pages of reading as she sat.

Louis shot him a toothy grin, and Harry mouthed, “Wanker,” at him, before slumping in his chair and pulling out his copy of Merchant of Venice.

_‘What the fuck is this kid’s angle?’_


	4. Chapter 4

“What the fuck, man?” Harry bellowed after the bell rang, confronting Louis who sat with a smirk on his face.

Louis chuckled, lifting himself out of his seat. “It’s a joke, mate, learn to take one.”

“It’s not exactly a joke when it’s bold and black and staring you right in the face!”

“Careful who hears that, you may sound a wee bit of a racist,” Louis joked, winking at him and making his way toward the door.

Harry hastily threw his books into his backpack and scurried after him. “You could’ve at least done it in pen, or something, not Sharpie. What if someone sees it and I get in trouble?”

Louis raised his eyebrows at Harry, whose big green eyes had grown innocently wide and desperate. “God, you are really serious, aren’t you? If you’re like that all the time how can you expect to have any fun?” Louis stared at him imploringly, before pulling his iPod out of his pocket and pulling his headphones over his ears. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Harry stared after him. He was struck by his words. Underneath Louis’s tactless jokes and frustrating antics, he had a point. Harry didn’t stop thinking about it all day.

*

It was his second day and Harry still hadn’t made any friends. He thought perhaps it was because he bore a mark of hatred on his arm that made him look like a Nazi, and wanted to blame most of the weird looks he received on that. When his history teacher pointed out the drawing, Harry rather unconvincingly sputtered that he was attempting to draw a “3D square” and ended up doing a poor job of it, resulting in the man looking at him strangely and keeping an eye on him for the rest of the day.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to be bothered, because he couldn’t get his mind away from what Louis had to said to him. Harry never had many friends back home. He spent most of his time in his room, playing his Xbox, listening to music, or spending time with his family. He didn’t really fit in with the people his age. His mum told him it was because he was more mature, but Harry was starting to think that Louis was actually right; maybe he was just too boring. Nobody in his classes seemed to show any interest in him. It was like he was invisible. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely heard the final bell of the day ring.

“Styles,” Ms. Fletcher, who taught Science, called to him. “It’s the end of the day. You can go home now.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, quickly gathering his things and standing awkwardly. “I, uh… bye.”

He made a quick detour to the bathroom before exiting the front doors of the school, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downtrodden. He was feeling rather down, until he heard a familiar voice call out to him. He spun around, a bit too eagerly, beanie nearly flying off his head as his eyes widened at Louis’s approaching figure. 

As usual, he had a fag in one hand and his phone in the other, hair slightly more dishevelled than it had been that morning due to the wind, but he still looked utterly gorgeous. 

“How’s it going?” He said casually, raising a hand to adjust Harry’s misplaced beanie.

Harry stared at him curiously as he did so, the gesture strangely comfortable and nonchalant from Louis’s end. He once again observed Louis’s obvious lack of boundaries, and wondered if he was like this with everyone. A part of him hoped he wasn’t.

He was so caught up in his thoughts and observations that he didn’t realize he was stalling. “Oh,” he said suddenly. “Um, good. It’s good.”

Louis snorted at Harry’s obviously flustered expression, taking a short drag of his cigarette. “You walking that way, then?” He pointed in the direction behind Harry.

“Um, no, my mum picks me up.”

“Knew you were a momma’s boy.” He laughed at Harry’s pleading response. “Joking,” he clarified, holding his hands out in defence. “Look, are you usually tied up after school?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Not - not really, no. Why?”

“You should meet me by the football field tomorrow, under the bleachers. I’ve got something to show you.” He grinned mischievously.

Harry’s eyes grew even wider, his heart thumping in his chest, mind immediately swimming with anticipation. “You’ve got something to show… me?”

“Generally when you’re talking to someone and call them you, they are the person you’re referring to, yeah,” he deadpanned. “So, yeah, you up for it?”

Harry shuffled on the spot anxiously for a few moments. “Um,” he hesitated. One look at Louis’s biceps was enough to help him make up his mind. “Yes. Yeah. I’m up for it.”

Louis grinned. “Wonderful.” He gave Harry a slap on the shoulder, taking a final drag of his cigarette and tossing it to the ground. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow!” Smiling like an idiot, Harry repeated over and over in his mind, ‘Don’t over think it, don’t over think it, don’t over think it,” as he waited for his mum to arrive.

*

“I think I made a friend, mum,” Harry said brightly as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Harry!” She beamed. “I’m so thrilled for you! What’s his name? Or her?” 

“His name’s Louis. He’s brilliant. He’s really funny and… really cute,” he said, mumbling the last bit.

Anne’s mouth opened and she let out a cooing noise. “Aw, my boy’s got a crush already! Precious!” She moved to ruffle his hair, but he swatted her hand away.

“Shut up, mum,” he muttered grouchily.

She caught sight of the markings on his arm. “What is that?”

“Oh, um… Louis drew it on me this morning.” She narrowed her eyebrows at him. “I told you; he’s funny. That’s just his sense of humour.”

Harry thanked God she was a cool mum. “That is kinda funny, actually,” she said, chuckling. “Why don’t you bring him round after school?”

“No!” Harry nearly shouted. Anne was cool, but she wasn’t THAT cool. There would be questions if she were to meet Louis; he wasn’t exactly the picture perfect image of a parent’s ideal friend. “It’s just… a bit soon, you know? I kinda want get to know him a bit more before I bring him home to the folks.”

Anne seemed a bit taken aback by his immediate refusal, but accepted his explanation with no further inquiries. “Well, I’m happy you’re speaking to people, at least. So, what do you want for dinner, tonight?”

* 

Harry stood in the bathroom after the final bell, adjusting his curls and straightening out his clothes. He groaned in frustration. He’d always hated his hair; it was messy and wild and curled in every direction imaginable and made him look silly. But he supposed it wasn’t going to get any better, so he accepted his appearance with a shrug. He took a deep breath, willing his nerves to just go away as he went to go hang out with his new friend.

Who happened to be the hottest person he’d ever laid eyes on.

He made his way to the football field as slowly as he could, his logic being that showing up on time would make him appear to desperate. Unfortunately, Louis was even less prompt than he was. Harry stood under the bleachers, worried that Louis was just having him on and actually intended to stand him. He waited anxiously, swaying from side to side, picking at the skin around his nails, begging him to show up.

He saw Louis approach out of the corner of his eye, feeling as though a giant forklift had been lifted off his shoulders. He exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Punctual,” he quipped as he reached the bleachers. “Admirable trait, Styles.”

Harry blushed. “More than I can say for you,” he muttered meekly.

Louis chuckled. “What can I say? I like to walk on the wild side.” He winked at him. Harry nearly stopped breathing.

“So, um… what - what did you want to show me?”

“Come here,” he said, looking around and leading Harry by the arm to a more sheltered area of the bleachers. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket. In it, there were 3 neatly rolled joints.

Harry gasped. “Is that… weed?”

“Yes! 10 points to Gryffindor!” He mocked, opening the bag and pulling out one of the tightly-packed cylinders.

He stared at it, clearly intimidated. “I’ve never, uh, smoked weed before.”

“You don’t say?” He grinned. “Would you like to?”

“Well, I can’t exactly go home high, you know.”

“Who says you have to go home right away? I don’t have anything to do today.”

Harry swallowed, nervous at the idea of spending the next few hours alone with Louis. “How… how long does it take for the effects to, you know, wear off?”

“Depends on how much you smoke. Since you’re a first timer, it may not effect you at all, or you’ll get ripped off your head,” he laughed. “But yeah, uh, an hour or two at most.” Harry appeared slightly mortified. “It’s just weed, mate. It’s really not that bad.”

“What does it… do, exactly?” Harry wondered, eyes innocent and questioning.

Louis shrugged. “Not much, really. Just makes you really relaxed. You laugh a lot too. It’s a lot of fun. I was about your age when I first tried it.”

Harry stared at the joint between his fingers for a few moments. He was nervous, but he really wanted to impress Louis, and he didn’t want him to think he was a pussy. 

“You know, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again. Don’t knock it till you try it, yeah? After all, you only live once.”

Harry choked out a laugh at the expression. “YOLO? Really?”

Louis chuckled. “Hey, the acronym is lame, but the phrase is golden.” There was a moment of silence, and Louis pouted at him, mouthing, “Please,” and Harry’s stomach fluttered.

He took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Brilliant!” He exclaimed, pulling a lighter from his pocket and raising the joint to his lips. He took two drags and passed it to Harry. “Now, so you don’t fuck up… Inhale, then suck the smoke into your throat like this…” He sucked in a breath in demonstration. “Hold it in for a second, then exhale. It’s quite simple, really. Take a breath before you do it, to ready yourself.”

Harry nodded. His heart was pounding. He did as Louis instructed, then placed the joint between his lips and inhaling. The sharp, bitter smoke filled his mouth, and he began coughing violently as it travelled down his throat.

Louis laughed wickedly. “That’s the spirit!” 

Harry continued to cough, and passed it back to him. “Oh my god,” he said between coughs. “That’s vile.”

“You get used to it, really. Here, take another. It takes a bit before it works.”

He eyed him warily, finally managing to take control of his lungs. “Are you trying to kill me?” He asked innocently, voice hoarse.

“Only if you let me.”

*

About 2 hours and 2 joints later, Harry was, as the teenagers called it, baked.

“It was so awful!” He said between bursts of laughter. “I had no idea. I was looking for the phone, and I thought it was in Gemma’s room, so I went upstairs, and I didn’t know what was going on ‘cause I’d just gotten home, so I didn’t know what to expect. Walked in without knocking, saw her about to go down on this bloody twat from the swim team, Patrick Davies!”

Louis howled, doing his signature seal clap and nearly toppling over. 

“I covered my eyes and ran screaming into my room! She was like, “Harry! You bloody bastard! I’m gonna tear your balls off and feed them to the dog! Funny thing is; we didn’t even have a dog!” He exclaimed enthusiastically.

“That’s fucking brutal, mate. Oh god, I would’ve killed myself.”

“She didn’t look at me for an entire week after that. Every time I saw her, I winked at her and told her to ‘mind her head’.”

“Cheeky bastard! That’s nothing, though; this one time, my mate Zayn was having a party, and it had mostly cleared out, right? It was like, 3 in the morning, but me and a few other people were still downstairs, and Zayn was up in his room pulling. So, none of us had a lighter, and we wanted to have a spliff, so I went to go see if Zayn had one. I was pissed out of my mind, totally forgot he had a girl up there. So I walk in his room, and there he is, doing a strip tease for this bird with “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye playing.”

They erupted in laughter as Louis finished the story, both falling on their backs, slapping their hands on the grass. 

“You’re right, mate! Mine was nothing!” 

“You’d have to be there, too! It was literally the best thing I’ve ever seen!”

Harry composed himself and sat up, brushing grass off his shirt and pants as he continued to giggle. They’d been exchanging funny stories, and he found the weed took the edge off him completely, to the point where he wasn’t nervous around Louis at all. He thought it was a godsend. He hadn’t laughed that hard in ages.

“I know it’s your first time and all,” Louis said, when he finally stopped laughing, “but do you want to have another go?” He pulled the last joint out of the bag. “You told your mom you’d be out, yeah?”

“Yeah, she’s not that overprotective; I don’t have to check up with her or anything,” Harry clarified, feeling completely at ease. “I can stay for another little while.”

Louis smiled at him. “It’s good, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I like it a lot more than I thought I would, minus the horrible taste and all.”

“Like I said, you get used to it.” Louis lit the joint and exhaled the smoke carefully, his lips parting sinfully slow.

Harry couldn’t help but stare at them, the way he licked them almost habitually, their unique shade of pale pink. He really was fit. He’d only known him 3 days, but he was a lot different than Harry had expected him to be. He was funny, really funny, and so easy to talk to. Judging by his tattoos, piercings, and smoking habit, Harry thought he’d be a right moody wanker. But he wasn’t. He had no respect for rules, and he was a snarky twat, but there was an unexpected warmth to him that Harry couldn’t help but get lost in. 

It didn’t hurt or help that he was so hot he made Harry want to strangle a mountain lion.

“Earth to Harry?” Louis said, waving his hand in front of his face, jolting Harry out of his reverie. “You spaced out for a second there, mate”.

He flushed bright red, scratching the back of his head nervously, worried Louis knew he had been thinking about him. “Oh, my bad.”

“No worries,” he said good-naturedly. “Happens all the time with weed. Turns you into a bit of a space case.” Harry was relieved it was a normal occurrence, and Louis hadn’t noticed anything off.

They smoked the joint in companionable silence. Louis then suggested they head to a store near-by, as “the munchies” would be settling in soon.

Harry told him he had no money, and Louis assured him it was nothing to worry about.

* 

They picked up a few bags of crisps and some chocolate, giggling as the clerk eyed them suspiciously. Louis mimicked his facial expression in the back, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyebrows. Harry covered his mouth to avoid laughing too loud.

They added two water bottles to their armful of snacks, before making their way to the counter to pay. The clerk glared at them as they left, and Louis flipped the bird as they exited the store. Harry laughed at him, taking a long, generous gulp of the water, enjoying the feeling of the cool liquid soothing his dry, scratchy throat. 

“You don’t know heaven until you’ve eaten after getting baked,” Louis commented, shoving a handful of crisps into his mouth.

Harry opened his chocolate bar and bit into it, stopping dead in his tracks as the flavour filled his mouth, making every taste bud tingle. “Fuck,” he whispered, practically moaning. 

“Innit?”

“That is so good.” He stuck his hand into Louis’s bag. “Jesus,” he muttered around a mouthful of crisps.

“How far away do you live?” Louis inquired as they continued to walk.

“Erm, about a half hour, why?”

“I could walk you home, if you like. My mate Liam has a car, he can pick me up from wherever.”

Harry nodded, taking another bite of his chocolate. “Sure.”

Louis stopped suddenly, stepping in front of Harry and raising his thumb to the corner of his mouth. His eyes were intense as he brushed it back and forth over Harry’s lip. His skin burned and tingled at the contact, his breath hitching as his eyes locked with Louis’s bold blues.

“Sorry. Had a bit of chocolate, there.” He grinned suddenly, stepping back in line with Harry and moving again.

Harry felt like someone had punched a hole through his chest.

* 

By the time they made it to Harry’s block, it was about half past 5 and the sky was beginning to darken. They had finished the crisps and chocolate quite quickly, discussing a wide variety of topics from favourite foods to the different types of weed. Harry’s buzz was dying down, and as they rounded down the final steps on the way to his house, he found himself getting somewhat nervous again.

“Mind if we stop here?” Louis said, when they reached the street leading onto Harry’s. “I’m gonna ask my mate to pick me up here.”

“Sure, sure,” Harry approved quickly. 

“Your eyes are still a bit red,” he chuckled, pulling a bottle of eye drops from his pocket. “They’re a bit tricky. Just… lean your head back, open wide, and level it with your eye, yeah?”

Harry stared at him. “What?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Come here, bend down a bit.” Louis stepped toward him, placing his hands on his shoulders and bringing him down slightly, as he was an inch or so taller. “Lean your head back.” Harry did as he was instructed, and Louis carefully squeezed the liquid into his eye. He flinched slightly at the cooling sensation, and felt the burning heat of Louis’s palm pressed against his neck.

When he finished the other eye, Harry lifted his head back up. “Perfect! Undetectable!”

Harry observed himself self-conscious. “I don’t… reek of it, do I?”

“No, it doesn’t really cling to clothes if you do it in an open area. If you do, just change clothes or something. All right, I’m gonna call my mate now. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, yeah. Definitely,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “That was… a lot of fun.”

Louis pulled his phone from his pocket. “Yeah. It was a laugh.”

Harry was unsure what proper goodbye etiquette was in Louis’s boundary-free mind, so he settled on a simple nod and a muttered, “See you later,” before turning off in the direction of his house.

He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he walked, and it only grew as he opened the house door and kicked off his shoes.

“Harry!” His mom called from the kitchen. She walked out to greet him, drying a plate with a worn dishrag. “How was your day?”

“Brilliant,” he replied, smiling so big his eyes squinted.

“Did you have a good time with your friend?” 

“Yeah. Really good. Really, really good.”

She smiled sincerely. “Do you think he’s a keeper, then?”

He considered her question for a moment, still grinning like the Cheshire cat he was. “Yeah. I really think so.”

He spent the rest of the evening floating on a cloud, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the weed.


	5. Chapter 5

“You know,” Harry said, taking a short drag of the joint, coughing a bit as he passed it to Louis, “when I moved here, I didn’t really think I’d make any friends, least of all one with tattoos everywhere who never shows up to class.”

“Have you made any others, then?”

He shook his head, picking at the grass by his feet. “No,” he sighed. “I’ve never had many friends, really.”

“Why’s that?” Louis asked curiously, finishing off the roach and extinguishing it on the ground.

“I’m weird. People don’t like me.”

“Well, you’ve only been here a week, I wouldn’t sell yourself so short just yet”,” he replied, shrugging and pulling his pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his bulky hoodie. “Want one?” He extended the pack toward Harry.

“I’m all right. You’ve already corrupted me enough in a week, we don’t need another offence.”

Since the last time they’d hung out, Louis had been in class once, and text Harry twice to meet at the bleachers and get high. He had been nervous and hesitant to accept, but he desperately wanted to spend time with Louis, and found the weed actually helped rid him of his awkwardness and made it easier to talk to him. And Harry wanted to talk to him. There were quiet moments, where neither said anything, that he found himself pondering the curves of his lips, the delicate cut of his cheekbones, the soft, unexpectedly dainty quality of his hands, and, most embarrassingly, the phenomenal curve of his arse, but more than anything, he just wanted to get to know him. Louis was guarded, he tended to avoid personal questions and respond with his typical, trademark sarcasm, and Harry wasn’t quite sure what a bloke like him would want with someone as meek and uninteresting as himself. He made him think, and that was one of the things that kept him coming back for more.

He watched carefully as Louis leaned back and laid against the grass, taking a deep drag of his cigarette and opening his mouth, allowing the smoke to slowly escape in a thick cloud. “Have you got a lot of mates, then?”

His eyes were closed, one arm resting underneath his hand, the other against his stomach. “Not really. I used to, before I dropped out. Then when I came back all my friends had graduated and I scared off the newbies with these bad boys,” he explained, gesturing to his tattoos.

Harry shifted and spread his legs out, leaning on his side. He steadied himself with a fist under his chin and regarded Louis. “Would you rather have a lot of random friends, or just a few close ones?”

Louis’s face twisted into a pensive expression, considering the question. “Dunno. I’ve had both. Used to have a lot, now I’ve only got a few. They’ve both got their benefits, I guess. If you’ve got like, a small group,” he expressed, gesturing with his fag, “they’re pretty much always down to chill. But if you’ve got a lot, if one isn’t, another is, you know what I mean? Although… I suppose you don’t, considering you’ve never had any friends.”

“Hey!” He whined, leaning over to swat his arm. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I think the real question is when am I not making fun of you.”

*

This became a bit of a routine for them after that. In the following two weeks, during which Louis was actually in class maybe 5 times, Harry counted, the two met up every other day, sitting underneath the bleachers, talking and smoking. Harry didn’t always partake, as he found weed made him quite sleepy and he always seemed to fall asleep earlier than intended, and had a hard time refraining from eating everything in sight (which his mom had noticed, but still didn’t comment on), but he found he enjoyed himself anyway. It was becoming a lot easier for Harry to distinguish between Louis the sex god and Louis the person, and he found that, despite his ever present urges, he actually rather liked Louis the person. He was a cheeky bloke, sarcastic and crude and a bit of a cynical twat, but he had his moments. Harry couldn’t help but revel in the way his eyes lit up when he talked about music, the way he got excited when Harry asked him about his tattoos, and even the careful way he smoked his cigarettes. He was so interested in Louis the person that he nearly forgot the way his breath hitched every time he laid eyes on his exposed biceps.

That was until Louis, ever the troublemaker, decided to make things complicated for Harry, once again. 

“You like The Fray?” Harry asked, so surprised by Louis’s admission he nearly swallowed the smoke he inhaled.

“I just told you I like a quality band and you’re looking at me as if I said I was the re-incarnation of Hitler.”

“With all these references, I’m beginning to think you might be a Nazi,” he joked.

“Didn’t I tell you? My first tattoo was actually a swastika. That’s why I drew one on your arm.”

“Where is it, then?”

“My arse.”

“Wouldn’t that scare away all the blokes?” Harry asked cheekily.

Louis gaped at him. “Harry Styles, what kind of tramp do you mistake me for? I’m more pure than Mother Theresa.” He pressed his hand against his heart in mock offence.

Harry laughed wildly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He shrugged, lifting his arms in a, ‘what are you gonna do?’ gesture. He stared at the joint between his fingers, eyeing it curiously before lifting his eyebrows and smirking at Harry. “You want a shotgun?”

He stared at him in bemusement. “A what, sorry?”

“God, you really are innocent, aren’t you? Here, I’ll show you.” He scooted closer on the grass, lifting himself up and settling down on his knees, holding the joint in front of him. He turned it around so the cherry was facing him, and held it up to demonstrate. “I put this in my mouth, yeah?” He shifted even closer, so close that Harry could feel his breath against his chin.

Harry shuddered. “You mean the - the lit part?” His voice quivered.

“Yeah. Then you put your mouth on the other end, draw, and then I blow it into your mouth…” Harry stared at him warily, eyes wide and flickering between Louis and the burning joint. “Come on, I’ll just show you.”

“I don’t want you to burn yourself,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I’ve done this before. Come here.”

Louis placed the joint between his lips, extending his finger and ushering Harry to move closer. Harry gulped, his face quickly turning deep pink, skin prickly. He felt like he was being stabbed with a dozen needles. Perspiration was beginning to gather around his forehead, and Louis snapped his fingers at him, gesturing him to hurry up. 

Harry swiftly abandoned his hesitation and leaned forward, his mouth hovering over the closed end of the joint. Their lips were barely an inch apart. Harry’s eyes closed as if he was expecting a kiss. He drew the smoke in slowly, heat filling his mouth and body, as Louis’s hand slithered its way up his thigh. He gave it a slight squeeze, raising his other hand to cover the joint and blow the burning smoke toward him, before pulling back way sooner than he would have liked. Harry’s eyes remained closed while he let the smoke escape between his lips, his heart beating erratically in his chest. Louis continued to brush his hand over his thigh, and Harry was almost certain there was now a gaping hole singed in the denim of his jeans. 

He didn’t even realize Louis had removed the joint from his lips and outed it on the ground, too caught up in the feeling of Louis’s mouth so close to his, and his hand’s firm grip on his thigh. He didn’t come to until Louis had removed his hand, and when he opened his eyes, he found him staring back at him, blue eyes locking with his, expression flat and unreadable. Harry’s breaths became laboured and uneven, while Louis remained utterly blank. For one mad second, he swore he saw his gaze flicker downwards.

*

If there was one thing Harry had learned about Louis, it was that he didn’t really like to talk about himself. He supposed it was to go along with his ‘mysterious’ aura, but he didn’t think Louis was serious enough to actively attempt to project an image. There were moments, rare moments, where he would smile unguardedly, such as when he mentioned, in passing, his four younger sisters and something cute they had done, but he never talked about them long enough for Harry to learn their names. 

There were other moments, that not only made Harry’s tummy flutter, but also made him seethe in frustration. Louis didn’t seem to have much sense of personal space. Since the shotgun incident, which neither had spoken of since it happened, Louis’s lack of boundaries only became increasingly evident. During the quieter times, when they sat close on the grass, Louis would reach over and a brush a stray curl out of his eyes, his smile unexpectedly bright and soft. Others when he would adjust the collar of his shirts, or place a hand on his back to guide him when he walked in the wrong direction. Harry tried not to over think these things, and brush it off as them just being an indicator of who Louis was as a person, but he gave him so little to work with that he couldn’t help it.

These things only made him ache for Louis more, but that didn’t mean he didn’t try to get him to open up, every once in a while.

“Hey Lou… You never really talk about your family much. Are your parents still together?” He asks out of the blue. It’s rather unsubtle, and extremely random, but he didn’t really know any other ways to phrase it.

Louis appeared unfazed. He shrugged simply. “Nah. My dad left when I was a baby, step dad and my mum divorced a few years back.”

“Did it bother you?”

He chuckled, lifting a cigarette from his pack and lighting it. “As much as it bothers anyone, I guess.” 

‘Come on, give me something to work with here,’ Harry thought desperately. 

“When my parents split up,” he acknowledged, “I was pretty broken up about it. I didn’t really blame myself like most kids do, you know, but I couldn’t help but feel like I could’ve prevented it. Like maybe if we had all come together as a family we could’ve sorted it out.”

“It’s pointless to think like that,” Louis stated. “Marriages aren’t designed to last. You get married, stick around long enough to have kids and get sick of each other, then you either suck it up and become miserable, or grow a pair and get a divorce.”

Harry was struck speechless. “Isn’t that a bit cynical?”

“Some call it cynical, I call it realistic.”

“Maybe, but do you have to think of things so fatalistically? You say that as if it’s inevitable.”

“Well, it kind of is. People are fickle, they whine, they complain, they get tired of each other. Kids are stressful, they certainly don’t help matters.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Harry retorted.

“You can’t argue with statistics.”

“Fuck statistics. You can’t put a measure on happiness. My parents are divorced, and it was pretty nasty, but you don’t see me giving up on everything. Maybe love doesn’t always last forever, but it’s good while it does. You need other people to be happy in life.” 

Louis stared at him, clearly amused. “You’re a starry-eyed little fucker, aren’t you?” He took a long drag of his cigarette, eyeing Harry with furrowed brows.

Harry scoffed at him. “Sorry if I’m hopeful. I don’t think you should just give up on everything just because some people made a few mistakes.” He crossed his arms and pouted, bringing his knees up under his chin.

“What, are you mad at me now? Because I don’t think love is a fairy tale?” Louis teased.

“Fuck off,” he sneered. “I just think you’re being a bit of a twat. I never said love was a fairy tale, I’m just saying it is possible to be happy in life. Why can’t you just admit your parents getting divorced affected you?”

Louis just continued to watch him. He outed his cigarette on the ground, then scooted closer to Harry, his eyes blank. “Look, do you want to come to a party this weekend?” He asked.

Harry sputtered. “So what, we’re just dropping the subject?”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” he said defensively. “And this conversation is really going nowhere and I feel like you’re gonna snap my head off my shoulders if we don’t stop, so… yeah, come to the party?”

He glared at him, cursing him for his annoying refusal to talk about his feelings and be serious. When he realized pushing further would do nothing except aggravate him further and result in more sarcasm, Harry sighed and surrendered to Louis’s wishes.

“Where is it?”

“At my mate’s house. I’ll give you directions, ‘cause I don’t have a car and I don’t really know where you live. It’s on Saturday. Lotsa drink, lotsa music, fun stuff. You in?” He inquired eagerly.

“Fine,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll just… tell my mom I’m spending the night at yours.”

“Wicked!”

Harry was still annoyed, and he didn’t plan on always letting him off the hook that easily, for now, he decided to humour him. He hoped this party would help him figure him out a bit better, at least maybe discover what his angle was. He had to admit he was more than a bit nervous to find out.

*

Louis met Harry outside his mate’s house as promised, greeting him with a slap on the back. Harry was thankful said mate only lived a few blocks from his, so he didn’t have to endure an awkward ride with his mum inquiring him where he was going. He told her he was going to Louis’s, and probably wouldn’t be back till late. Harry was suddenly appreciative of his untarnished track record, as she accepted his explanation without so much as a second thought, and sent him on his way with a kiss on the forehead and a scarf wrapped around his neck.

He felt he looked a bit silly, in his thick winter boots, bulky jacket, and obnoxious plaid scarf, but he figured the ensemble he wore underneath the heavy layers was as foolproof as ever. A slightly crinkled Pink Floyd shirt and a pair of loose fitting jeans, held up by a sensible black belt. The shirt would at least be an ice breaker for conversation, which Harry was worried about since the only person he knew at the party was Louis, whose arm he intended to cling to for the majority of the night.

“Which of your mate’s is this? Like whose place?” 

“Niall,” Louis said as he lead him inside, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket on a nearby chair. “He throws a great one.”

Harry looked around, eyes wide with wonder and anxiety. There were dozens of people filling the rather small house, pints in half their hands, cigarettes in the other. The music was loud and hard, thrashing against the walls and vibrating the room. Nobody noticed their arrival, nor Harry standing in the foyer like an awkward wallflower, and Harry was thankful for both the loud music and their most likely short attention spans. 

“Well, don’t just stand there like a twat, come on!” Louis commanded, leading him in with a protective hand on his shoulder, which felt nice. He greeted a few people as they passed through the crowd, while Harry’s eyes remained glued to the ground, consciously avoiding their gazes of scrutiny. They soon reached the kitchen, where Louis gestured toward a grinning blonde whose hand was currently resting on some bird’s arse, and ushered him to come over.

“How’s it goin’, mate?” The blonde said, bumping his fist against Louis’s. The music was quieter in the kitchen, and Harry could tell the lad had an Irish accent. That was interesting.

“Good, good. This is Harry.” He pushed Harry forward slightly. “Harry, this is Niall.”

Niall regarded him, eyes roaming him up and down, a smirk slowly forming on his lips. “Well, aren’t you precious?” He teased, reaching out and pinching his cheek condescendingly.

“Hey, hey, now,” Louis defended. “Play nice.”

“So, Harry, ever gotten wasted before?”

Harry swallowed nervously. “Once or twice, yeah,” he choked out.

Niall and Louis exchanged sly smiles, seemingly reading each other’s minds. “Let’s get you proper smashed, eh?”

Harry stared blankly for a moment, eyes flickering between the two, before he finally nodded submissively. “Okay.”

*

After 4 beers, losing Louis 3 times, and nearly tripping a rather expensive looking stereo, Harry found himself sitting on a crowded couch, 5 heavily made-up, hairspray-smelling, long-nailed girls sitting around him, one of them sobbing and venting to him about her boyfriend who had just dumped her for a “cheap” slut named Veronica. Or maybe it was Valerie.

The girl, who he believed was called Cher, sobbed against Harry’s shoulder, her drink coming dangerously close to tipping over onto his jeans.

“You have to move on, Chez! You’re way too good for him anyway!” Her friend, a slight girl named Heather with poofy blonde hair and a rather unfortunate set of front teeth, comforted her.

Harry, who was too drunk to be bothered and actually rather interested in the pretty girl’s story, patted her on the back. “Yeah, fuck this guy… No, I mean, don’t - don’t fuck him, that would be bad. That would be very bad, just… forget about his stu-stupid arse,” he slurred, pointing his finger at her. “I’m sure, I am sure, she is nowhere near as pretty as you, and that’s - that’s all that really matters, innit? You can have ANY guy. Any guy you want.” He started giggling, unaware of where that little speech had even come from.

Cher looked up at him hopefully, her full lips pulling into a watery pout. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do! Except - except me, ‘cause I don’t swing that way,” he exclaimed, bursting into a fit of laughter. “Isn’t that so funny? I’m like - the nicest guy, I could treat you ri - right, and I like BLOKES!” Harry laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, falling backwards against the arm of the couch, hands clutching at his sides.

The girls stared at him in bemusement, when Louis suddenly appeared out of nowhere, pulling Harry off the couch by his arm.

Harry continued to laugh as Louis stood him up and steadied him, hands heavy on his shoulders. “You all right?” He shouted over the music, clearly amused.

“I’m great!” Harry yelled gleefully, grasping Louis’s waist. “I’m so great right now!”

“Good! Come here, I want to show you something!”

He lead him to a small room, where a few people sat in a circle. He closed the door behind them, muting the music and creating a pleasant aura of seclusion.

“Hey guys,” he greeted. “This is Harry. Harry, this is my best mate, Zayn,” he pointed to a dark-skinned boy with a large, black quiff and a leather jacket, who gave him a “what the fuck?” look and waved two fingers, “that’s Perrie, Liam, his girlfriend Danielle, Stan, and Paul.”

Harry observed them with wide eyes. Louis had spoken about them all before, particularly Zayn and Liam, who were clearly his best mates, but seeing them in the flesh was different. They looked how he expected them too, for the most part; wild hair, tattoo covered arms much akin to Louis’s, with similarly intense gazes. They all stared back at him, and Harry felt weightless under their scrutiny, his cheeks filling with colour and anxiety building in his chest. They each gave curt, disinterested waves, and Harry could practically feel them judging him. He suddenly wanted to run away, as far and fast as he can, but figured it would only make them think lower of him, so he plastered a fake smile on his face and waved at them eagerly. 

“So!” Louis blurted, breaking the awkward silence. “Harry here has never smoked from a bong before, tonight’s gonna be his first stab at it.”

“It is?” Harry asked, trying to figure out when and where he said this. 

“Yes, it is. Not a proper party without your first bong hit!”

“But I’m already really drunk, man,” he said, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Exactly. Therefore we need to get you more fucked up.” Louis grinned cheekily and nudged his shoulder, motioning for Zayn to pass him over the small, see-through bong sitting in front of his feet.

Harry suddenly felt very self-conscious. His mind suddenly overflowed with irrational, negative thoughts, thoughts that Louis only brought him here to embarrass him, only talked to him so he tell his stories to his friends and laugh with them about him. Louis had been careful with the details he gave about his own life, always letting Harry do the talking, and Harry was beginning to think this may have been his plan all along. It didn’t make much sense given the extensive amount of time they’d spent together, alone, just the two of them, and those weird, brief, intimate moments they’d shared, but Harry was drunk, dizzy, and unable to think straight, and his current state of mind accepted this explanation as a logical theory.

Zayn passed Louis the bong. “All right, so like I said, Harry here has never done this before, smoked out of one of these, I mean, so no laughing if he fucks up, all right?” His tone was light, borderline mocking to Harry’s ears. Zayn shrugged and went back to kissing Perrie’s neck, the others leaning forward to watch eagerly, skeptical looks upon their faces.

Louis handed it to Harry. “All right, I’ll light it for you. All you gotta do is pull, like, breathe in sort of slowly, you know? Then when it gets too much and you can’t take anymore, tap me on the hand, I’ll take the bowl out, and then you suck it in as fast as you can. Hold it in for a second then blow it out, ‘kay? You may cough a bit, but that’s all part of the fun.”

Harry stared at him, utterly confused.

“It sounds more complicated than it is, trust me,” Louis said, chuckling at his expression. “Just… just put your mouth on it, yeah?”

Zayn snorted, burying his laughing face in Perrie’s hair. She swatted at him, cracking up a bit herself.

“Hey, get your minds out of the gutter. Fucking perverts. Okay, you ready?”

He nodded and bent over, placing his lips on the mouth of the pipe. Louis held the lighter over the bowl, the flame swerving and burning his finger. “Ow, fuck! Okay, that was probably my bad. As soon as I light the lighter, I want you to start pulling. I’ll burn myself if you don’t”.

Harry groaned, growing exasperated and agitated, but nonetheless did as he was told. Louis lit the bowl more carefully this time and Harry inhaled, the smoke slowly rising within the chamber. The water bubbled at the bottom, and he nearly found himself dancing at the sound. He was beginning to run out of breath, so he tapped Louis’s hand and pulled his mouth off the bong, exhaling the smoke in the midst of a rather large coughing fit. His throat burned, and the others laughed at him as he proceeded to cough up a lung.

Louis moved to cover the top of the bong with his hand, smiling fondly at Harry and patting him on the back. “You all right?” Harry nodded, attempting to re-gain control of his coughing. “You need to finish it now, though. Like I said, inhale as fast as you can, like -” Louis sucked in a breath quickly, hollowing out his cheeks, “like that, ‘kay?”

He panted for a moment, then lowered his head once again and followed Louis’s instructions. He didn’t cough this time as he exhaled, but he was already beginning to feel the effects of the weed.

“So,” Zayn said, removing his mouth from Perrie’s neck and lighting a cigarette. “Harry. How do you and Louis know each other?”

It took Harry a moment to register his question, his mind slow and heavy from the weed. “We have first period together. English. He was my tour guide the first day. I’m new here.” Harry’s words were hushed and slurred, eliciting a laugh from the people in the circle.

“Harry’s a Cheshire lad,” Louis explained, throwing an arm across his shoulder. “He just moved here with his mum at the beginning of the semester.”

“Ah,” said Liam, reaching over Perrie and tiffing the fag from between Zayn’s lips. “Mummy’s boy, eh?”

“Toss me a fag, Zayn, I left mine at home,” Louis requested, extending his arm. Harry’s stomach churned at Louis’s lack of defence toward him.

“Fucking mooch,” Zayn murmured. “How could you forget them on your way to a party, of all places?”

“You know I haven’t got a good memory,” he hissed, pulling out his lighter.

“Maybe that’s a sign you should stop smoking too much weed,” said a round bloke in the corner, who Harry believed to be called Stan.

“Says the lad with the spliff in his hand.”

Harry felt extremely out of place as the conversation shifted, Louis asking Zayn and Liam about some sort of gig they were playing at a place called the Slinky Cat. He knew they wouldn’t include him in the discussion, and he didn’t want to just sit there awkwardly, so he inquired as to if they were in a band.

“Yeah”, Liam replied. “Me, Zayn, our mate Niall, and Stan. Louis used to play with us, but he reckoned he wasn’t as good and quit a few months back.” Liam threw an empty beer can at Louis, who caught it and threw it back aggressively.

“What you gonna do next, Li, tell my entire fucking life story?”

“You never told me there was a limit on what I could tell your new boyfriend,” he snapped disdainfully.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Louis scoffed. 

“Then what’s he doing here? If you’re not fucking him, what else is he good for?” Zayn said cruelly, glowering at Harry, who cowered under his withering glare.

Harry felt uneasy, eyes flickering between Louis and his friends.

“He’s a laugh.” Louis shrugged.

That was all Harry could take. He pushed himself up off the ground, stumbling a bit as he stood. “I may be a nerd, but at least I’m not a fucking prat”. With that, he swung the door open, storming out angrily and ignoring Louis’s protests. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be laughed at, to be made a fool of for the sake of other people’s amusement. If Louis had brought him here for that, and riled him up for the purpose of making fun of him, he wasn’t going to let that happen. He had too much dignity for that.

He had slipped into his boots and coat and made his way out the door by the time Louis caught up to him. He ignored his exasperated calls of his name, only whirling around (and nearly slipping on a patch of ice) when Louis told him he was being stupid. 

“Your friends are fucking dicks, you know that?”

“They are a bit judgemental, yeah. They’re just not used to people like you.”

“People like me?! If you knew that, why’d you even fucking invite me here in the first place? Was it to laugh at me? To make fun of me for how - how open I’ve been with you?” Harry shouted hysterically, feeling as though the blood pumping through his veins had been entirely replaced by alcohol.

Louis looked at him as if he’d told him he wanted to bathe in spaghetti. “What are you on about?”

“It’s like… you’re fine knowing everything about me, but I’m not allowed to know anything about you…”

“Wait, I thought this was about my mates…”

“Just shut up, okay? Yeah, they’re dicks, but like - you’re supposed to be, my friend, you know?”

“So, you think being friends is about telling each other stuff about their lives?” Louis raised an eyebrow.

“No, I just - Look, I’m drunk, okay, and high, and I don’t really know what I’m saying, but… I just don’t get why you’re friends with me. Like - we have nothing in common, and you’re… you, and I’m me, and just, we don’t make sense as friends. I can’t help but think there’s another reason you’re hanging out with me!”

Louis continued to stare at him bemusedly, eyebrows receding further and further up his forehead with every word. “You’re really, really insecure, aren’t you?”

Harry pouted at him, suddenly feeling incredibly small. “You know, Lou. You know everything. People my age have never wanted to be my friend. People I actually have stuff - stuff in common with. And it’s not like you’re ever - ever real with me, so sorry if it’s a bit hard to fully trust you sometimes.”

“Trust me?”

“Yes! I just don’t, I don’t understand why you would want to hang out with me. Like other than to, take the piss and laugh at me, that is,” Harry mumbled, turning around and kicking at the snow dejectedly. 

Louis heaved a dramatic sigh. “You’re being really stupid right now, I hope you know that.”

Harry whipped around again, eyes fierce and angry. “Fuck you!” Louis raised his hands in defence and took a step back. “It’s not like you give me much reassurance! It’s like, you don’t take anything seriously. You don’t give me any reason to think you actually like me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I hang out with you all the time.”

“But for what reason?” Harry pleaded.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Harry, I know you’re drunk and everything, but you’re acting a bit like a hysterical girlfriend.”

Harry stared at the ground, gripping at his hair in frustration. “You just… you don’t understand. I feel like I’m always 100 % honest, and I really - really want to be your friend, and you don’t even pay me the same courtesy. I don’t have friends, Louis. People don’t like me. And when you don’t tell me stuff, and when you - when you let your friends talk to me like that, it feels like you don’t like me either. Maybe if you were, you know, real for once… this wouldn’t be happening. Like… what does someone like you want with a kid like me? We don’t even have…”

“Anything in common? I don‘t know, Harry, we never really seem to run into too many awkward silences, do we? I don‘t recall you being bored at your mind all those times under the bleachers. That sounded dirty… Anyway, look, Harry, I get it, okay? You‘re not used to this kind of stuff. But I didn‘t bring you here to laugh at you. I brought you here because I thought you‘d enjoy it. And you want me to be real? Okay, well… I like you because… I don’t know, you’re just different, I guess. Like, you’re more honest than most people. You’re actually… kind of cool, like, I can talk to you easily. You’re a laugh. I don’t understand why me having tattoos and you wearing glasses means we can’t be friends,” Louis explained simply, shrugging.

Harry was dumbfounded. Louis had just said he was cool. That he thought he was cool. One would think that he would have realized this by then, as they’d been friends for about 3 months, but Harry had always been insecure and uncertain. He over thought things and questioned everything, because he didn’t know how to not. People liking him always seemed to come with a catch, and he liked Louis too much for it not to hurt him if that was the case.

“Are you done being a neurotic basket case? Now that we’ve settled that I actually do consider you my friend and you’re NOT the laughing stock of this party? Because it’s pretty fucking cold out here and I really don’t want to be arguing all night.”

Out of nowhere, Louis was in Harry’s personal space. He placed his hands on his shoulders, steadying him, locking eyes with him. Harry quivered a bit. Louis was the most intense person he’d ever met, and took his breath away when he looked at him like that, like maybe the two of them weren’t that different, and everything Harry had been feeling, everything that had built up inside him, maybe it wasn’t as one-sided as he thought. 

Louis leaned forward slightly, close enough that their cold, visible breath tangled together, blowing backwards against Harry’s chin. He wasn’t expecting him to kiss him, but for some reason, he still closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of having Louis so close.

“Come on,” Louis sighed. “Let’s get you home. You look tired.” He took a step back, gesturing for him to follow him.

“You don’t know where I live.”

“You can show me. You’re not that pissed, are you?”


	6. Chapter 6

Louis silently thanked a God he didn’t believe in when he woke up the first Monday of Christmas break. It wasn’t as if he spent much time at school anyway, but it was still nice to have a few days off. He and the boys were going to hit up a few clubs and get smashed, quite possibly pull, and Louis was very much looking forward to it. He hadn’t gotten laid in a while, and it was starting to make him a little cranky. If he had a pound for every time Niall had called him a miserable twat the previous week alone, he’d have enough for 10 hookers. 

It was only half 10, earlier than Louis usually woke up, and he decided to take a quick shower to wake himself up. It ended up being not very quick at all, as he needed a wank to satisfy his morning hard-on, and after he came, he couldn’t resist just laying against the cool tiles for a few minutes, letting the water run all over his face and down his body.

He stepped out finally and dried himself off, throwing on a discarded pair of his baggier jeans, and an old Avenged Sevenfold jumper. He looked in the mirror to find his eyes much droopier than normal, and he applied a thin, precise line of eyeliner to the rims of his eyes. The result was lackluster, but he was too knackered to care, and his still-damp hair looked a lot worse. He ran his fingers through it, patting it down so it retained it’s shape. With one last glance in the mirror, he turned away and exited the bathroom.

He ascended the stairs quietly, careful not to wake his sisters up, and made his way to the kitchen. He rolled his eyes and groaned when he spotted Seamus, his mother, Jay’s latest boyfriend sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee.

Louis eyed him abrasively as he strode into the kitchen to make himself some toast.

“Shouldn’t you be in school? Oh, wait, I forgot; you never go,” he said smugly, taking a slow sip of his coffee.

“I’m on holidays, actually,” Louis enunciated enthusiastically, dropping the bread into the toaster. “Shouldn’t you be out… ignoring my mum and not returning her calls?” He reached over and pulled a cigarette from Seamus’s pack, which lay open on the counter, using his own lighter to light it.

“It’s none of your business what I do with my time”.

Truth be told, Louis didn’t like any of his mum’s boyfriends. They were all twats, and none of them stayed around longer than a few months, but there was something about Seamus that particularly irked Louis. He was an accountant, which for some reason, made him think he was better and smarter than most people and he paraded around in fancy, pretentious gray suits, as if he owned the place. He also seemed to have it out for Louis, taking an instant dislike to his tattooed, pierced skin, and blunt attitude. 

He kissed Jay as if she were a possession, an object, a disposable play thing, riled her up, then let her down. She was one of the few people Louis actually cared about, but she had horrible taste in men and Louis was not hesitant to make his opinion known.

“You know, Louis, maybe if you focused on matters that actually concerned you, instead of sticking your obnoxiously large nose into your mother‘s business,” he said, whispering the last few words with a sarcastic edge to his voice, “you might actually be less of an obnoxious twat? ”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He heard the pop of the toaster behind him and detected a vague scent of something burnt, but elected to ignore it, all thoughts of breakfast discarded.

Seamus rolled his eyes, stubbing his cigarette out in the ash tray. “I’m saying it may benefit you to do something useful with your time other than moping and brooding and thinking you can influence your mother’s choices. You can’t succeed in life by meddling into other people’s business.”

Louis glared at him. “So, what, you’re calling me a failure?”

“Well, your words, not mine, but if the shoe fits…” He shrugged. “Think about it; you dropped out of college, what’d you do on your year off? The same things you do all the time. Smoke, drink, smoke more. Now that you’re back you’re still doing the same thing. You’re 18 years old, when are you going to fucking grow up? The only reason your mother hasn’t thrown your arse to the curb is because she’s an utter pushover. If you were my son I would’ve disowned you ages ago.” 

They stared each other down, disdain colouring each of their gazes. Louis was shaking with anger and all he wanted to do was punch Seamus in his stupid smug mug, but before he could even consider it, he heard footsteps ascending the stairs and within a few seconds his mum entered the kitchen looking exhausted, wearing a robe and her hair in a ponytail. She kissed Louis on the cheek and ruffled his hair, then walked over to Seamus and kissed him on the mouth. Louis thought he was going to be sick.

“Morning, boys”, she said sleepily, stifling a yawn behind her dainty hand.

“G’morning,” Louis mumbled, taking off down the hallway toward the door, wanting nothing more than to get out of there.

“Where’re you going?” Jay called after him, concern laced in her voice.

“Out! I‘ll be back later,” he replied, slipping hastily out the door and pulling out his phone to ring Zayn. He was never up this early, and likely wouldn’t be too pleased to be woken up by the sound of a blaring phone, but Louis didn’t really care. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than a good spliff and the company of someone who wasn’t a complete arsehole.

*

“Honestly, mate,“ Zayn said grumpily as he opened the door to let Louis in. “You better have a fucking good reason for waking me up this early or your balls will be mine for the rest of eternity.”

Louis cowered in mock fear. “Attached or unattached to my body?”

“Attached. I’ll handcuff you to a doorknob in my basement.”

“Ooh. Kinky. You certainly do know how to arouse a bloke.” 

Louis followed him into his rec room, closing the door behind him and watching as Zayn pulled his tall, 2-foot, blue and black bong from behind the back table. 

“Did you bring your own kush?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got some,” Louis said, pulling his grinder from his pocket. 

Zayn nodded, pulling the bowl from the downstem and blowing the ash from the tiny hole at the bottom. “I haven’t cleaned it in a few days so it might taste like shite, but whatever. It still works.”

“Did you at least change the water?”

“No, I just left it there to ferment for an entire week. Of course, you idiot, I change it every day.”

“I’m just checking mate, you do tend to get lazy sometimes.”

He scoffed and tossed Louis the bowl, pulling a fag from his pocket and lighting it. Louis opened his grinder and dropped a generous amount of weed into the bowl. Zayn passed him the bong carefully and Louis placed the bowl securely in the downstem. The hit was harsh and Louis coughed a lot more than he usually did; it was clear Zayn hadn’t cleaned the thing. But it hit the spot, and he was high almost immediately. 

“Had a little run in with Seamus this morning,” he said, collecting himself.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Ah, what’d the bastard say this time?”

“Basically said I was a useless bastard”, Louis explained with his mouth around a cigarette. “That if I was his own son he’d disown me.”

“Sounds like a sound bloke to me,” Zayn deadpanned.

“Fuck off, wanker,” Louis shot back.

“Seriously, though, what’d you do to him to make him hate you so much? You must’ve done something. Did you put eyeliner on him while he was sleeping?”

“No, but now that you mention it, I may. It’s not like he could hate me any more than he already does. And I haven’t done anything to him; I just know he’s full of shit and don’t put up with it.”

“And you’re wondering why he hates you? You’re not exactly the easiest person to get along with, Louis,” he said while packing a bowl.

“I know, but he was a dick to me first. He hated me on sight. ‘Cause of my tattoos.”

“And your face metal.” Zayn gestured to his lip piercing.

“Yeah, that too. I’m pretty sure he’s not cool with me being gay either.”

“With the amount you bitch about him it almost sounds like you’re actually gay for him.”

“Fuck you!” Louis protested. “That is the farthest thing from the truth I’ve ever heard. He’s gross and a bit fat. He’s got a huge pot belly, you should see it. You could probably poke it and it’d be hard as a rock. Not to mention he’s 40 and a complete tosser.”

Zayn shrugged, finishing his bowl and exhaling the large cloud of smoke slowly from his mouth. He placed it on the ground and regarded Louis more thoughtfully. “Speaking of blokes, what’s going on with you and that kid?”

“What kid?”

Zayn scoffed. “Don’t play coy with me, Tommo. You know what kid. That fancy bloke with the stupid hair you brought the other night.”

“Oh yeah,” Louis acquiesced. “That bloke.” He lit a cigarette and took a slow, deep drag.

“So, what’s the deal with that? You fucking him or something?”

Louis chortled, leaning back against the chair and stating, “He’s a mate,” obnoxiously blowing smoke toward Zayn’s face.

“Since when do you hang out with young-ins?” He asked disdainfully. 

“Is this really worth discussing? I’m sure there are more pressing matters to talk about at the moment.”

“Not when you’re trying to screw jailbait, there isn’t.”

“Who says I’m trying to screw him?” He said innocently, holding his hands up in defence.

Zayn scoffed again, narrowing his eyebrows at him. “Let me get this straight… you’re hanging around with this kid, who, I assume, is a huge pansy, albeit a pretty one, for completely innocent reasons? Just a bit of one-on-one bro time? Yeah, I call bullshit.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break, Zayn”, Louis ordered, leaning forward to stub his cigarette in the ash tray. “I’m showing the kid a bit of fun, all right? He hasn’t got any friends, thought I’d try to show him a good time”. 

He looked up to see Zayn gaping at him. “Since when did you start doing charity work?”

“Who said I was doing it for him? I just thought it’d be fun to corrupt him a bit”. 

“You’re sure about that?” Zayn asked skeptically.

“’Course”.

*

When Louis returned from Zayn’s, he was pleased to find Seamus nowhere in sight and his mother preparing dinner in the kitchen, a boiling pot on the stove and an assortment of vegetables on the cutting board. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a half hug.

“Hi, love,” she said brightly. “Where’d you come from?”

“Was at Zayn’s,” he mumbled, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. “So I had a lovely chat with Seamus this morning”.

Jay seized cutting vegetables and looked up at him warily. “Oh, Lou. What’d you say to him this time?”

“Nothing,” he said defensively. “He was just being his usual charming self.” The disdain was clear in his voice and Jay dropped the knife, taking a step toward him and giving him a stern look.

“I thought we both agreed you were going to play nice?”

“I definitely do not remember agreeing to that. What I do remember is him telling me I’m a total failure and all but calling me a useless bastard”.

Jay gaped at him. “He did not say that!”

“Maybe not in those exact words, but he certainly implied it.”

She sighed, pressing her palm against her forehead in exasperation. “Louis, dear… I really do think you need to cut him some slack. You’ve never been very nice to him, it’s really no surprise it’s become mutual.”

It was Louis’s turn to gape at her, his eyes growing wide and manic. “Are you really defending your latest squeeze over your own son?”

“Don’t call him that! He’s my boyfriend and you need to respect him,” she commanded, relocating back to the cutting board and continuing to slice the carrots that previously occupied her hands, though more aggressively this time.

“Do you even hear yourself? I’m your fucking son, I think that title alone makes me entitled to a little respect.”

Jay appeared to be at war with herself, her chopping once again slowing down and her face contorting into a pensive, unreadable expression.

“And while we’re on the topic of respect,” Louis continued dramatically, holding his arms out for emphasis, “let’s talk about how he treats you. He doesn’t call for days at a time, he only seems to show up when he wants something, he constantly criticizes you, he doesn’t know how to make you feel better when you’re down, I mean, I’m convinced he’s actually emotionally retarded. Do you want me to go on, because I really -”

“That’s enough, Louis!” She shouted, slamming the blade of the knife into the cutting board. “I do not need this right now. I’m behind on my mortgage, the bills are coming any day now, and I’m already working two jobs, if I got a third, I’d never be home to see my kids!” She paused, taking a deep breath and slouching slightly against the counter. “I don’t know if you understand this, babe,” she sounded near tears, “but I really do need him. I can’t be a single mother supporting 5 kids.”

“Then I’ll get a job! I want to help mum, you know I do, and I don’t want to see this bloke treat you like that.”

She lifted her gaze to look at him, smiling sadly. “I know, babe, and that means the world to me, but it wouldn’t be enough. I need someone with a steady income, not a part time job at the local bakery. Besides, you know I want you in school. I want you to graduate, Lou. That’s all I want from you. I don’t want your money.”

Louis stared at her, anger bubbling inside his chest. “So, you’re telling me… you’d rather be unhappy and have a guy treat you like shit… than let me help you out?”

“You know it’s not that simple, sweetie -”

“Oh, I think it’s really simple, actually,” he seethed, storming out of the kitchen and whirling around to glare at her once more. “Just so you know… being selfless isn’t always an attractive quality”.

He strode toward the front door, quickly slipping on his Vans and slamming the door behind him. He lit a cigarette, pulling out his phone with his other hand, pressing speed dial and jamming it between his ear and shoulder. He took a deep drag, the smoke filling his lungs but doing little to ease his agitation.

“’Ello?” The thickly accented voice chimed from the other end of the line.

“Niall,” he said cheerily. “Hey, mate, how’s it going?”

“Not too bad”, he responded good-naturedly. “Just startin’ practice, actually. Gettin’ super pumped for the gig. What you up to?”

“Not much, just got back from Zayn’s actually. You there now?”

“Yeah, that is generally where we have practice, you know.”

“Of course,” Louis chuckled. “Look, I’m feelin’ in the mood. You wanna get shit-faced tonight?”

Niall howled with laughter. He always did seem to find amusement in the littlest things. “Straight up, Tommo, I like it. Plannin’ on gettin’ laid, then?”

“Isn’t that what I always do when I get shit-faced?”

“Thank the fucking lord! You know, you’ve been acting like a right mis-”

“Yeah, yeah, miserable twat, I get it. So, you up for it then?”

“Yeah, o’ course. Gotta be there to watch me baby spread his wings.”

“You’re such a fucking freak,” Louis laughed. “All right, let Zayn and Li know, then. I’ll meet you outside the club at around 11”.

“Sounds good.” Niall hung out without saying goodbye, as usual, and Louis found himself with nothing to do and a few hours to spare. He wanted to avoid his mother for the time being, so going back inside wasn’t an option. He figured he could sit outside, listen to music, and chain-smoke for the time being, but it wasn’t the most exciting idea. A thought suddenly popped into his head, a devious, ill-advised one, a smirk slowly forming on his lips.

*

He spotted Harry out of the corner of his eye, approaching hastily and nearly tripping on a thick, hard pile of snow. Louis chuckled and waved at him. He waved back franticly, slowing down his pace as to avoid tripping over another snow bank. 

“Hi!” Harry chirped eagerly. Louis looked him up and down. He was the epitome of boyish innocence; wrapped up in a large, dark blue coat, a similarly coloured scarf and heavy, bulky black boots. A white beanie lay perched on his curls, a bit of his fringe peaking out, the paleness against his already pale skin emphasizing the faint flush colouring his cheeks. His lips, however, were far from innocent. Chapped, bitten dark red from the cold and parted delicately as Harry panted, attempting to catch his breath, they were actually obscene.

Louis pushed aside his inappropriate thoughts greeting him with a disinterested nod of his head and a poorly concealed smirk, mischief written clearly across his face.

Harry was, of course, adorably oblivious. “So, why’d you want me to meet you here, of all places? I had to beg my mum to drive me.”

Squinting at him, Louis’s mouth slowly curved upward in a cheeky grin. “Come on, follow me. I’ve got something to show you.”

Harry nodded his consent with large, inquisitive eyes, submissively following his lead. Louis laughed internally at Harry’s ignorance, for once quite pleased that the boy was so unassuming. It would only make his reaction to Louis’s plan all the more priceless.

“Louis, where - where are we going?” Harry inquired cautiously as Louis lead him onto a street toward a row of houses.

“Like I said,” Louis tossed a wink in Harry’s direction, “I’ve got something to show you.”

They finished their trek in front of an average-sized, gray and white gray house at the end of the block. Louis stopped so suddenly that Harry ungracefully bumped into him, flushing and apologizing profusely under his breath.

“What are we doing here?” Harry asked, staring at the house and cocking his head to the side in question.

“Paying a little visit.”

Louis crossed the walkway quickly and climbed the short steps with Harry following close behind. 

“Who lives here?”

“My mum’s boyfriend,” Louis said after a pause, pulling his mum’s spare key from his pocket and unlocking the door.

“Is he expecting you?” Harry exclaimed nervously, gripping Louis’s arm and halting it from pushing the door open.

Louis turned to him and smirked. “He’s not even home. Knicked the key from my mum‘s dresser,” he said with a wink.

He shoved Harry’s hand from his arm and opened the door while grabbing Harry and pulling him along with him, shutting it behind them. 

“We’re breaking into your step dad’s house?” Harry whispered hysterically, as if somebody was around to hear them and they were required to be sneaky. It was almost adorable.

“Mum’s boyfriend,” Louis corrected. “Not step-dad. And it’s not breaking in if you got a key.” He lifted the key and shook it in front of Harry’s face.

“I’m not sure what law book you learned that in but it must be completely out-dated!”

“Wow, was that sarcasm, Harry? That’s a first for you. I’m quite impressed.”

Harry threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, Louis, what - what are we even doing here?”

Louis shrugged half-heartedly stepping further into the hallway and slipping out of his jacket. “Because he’s a twat. Who treats me and my mum like total shit.”

“And that’s supposed to explain why we’re breaking into his house?”

“And I’m bored. And feeling vindictive.”

“So your way of getting revenge is invading his property, and what, stealing his prized possessions?! Turning his - his refrigerator upside down? What if we get caught, Louis? What if he just went around to the store and he’ll be back in a minute? I don’t want -”

Louis cut him with a finger to Harry’s lips and a soft, muted, “Shhh”. Harry’s eyes immediately flickered to where it rested against his mouth, his cheeks flushing deeper red. “Don’t worry,” Louis said without removing his finger. “Trust me. He’s at work right now. He won’t be here for another while. I know what I’m doing. Just… trust me, yeah?”

Harry stared at him bewildered before slowly nodding his head. Louis smirked at the way the boy had become so docile under his touch; he already had him wrapped under his little finger. 

They walked further into the house and Harry gasped at the enormous mess. There were pizza boxes all over the place, other take-out containers scattered elsewhere and clothes both dirty and clean slung over any available crevice. There was food on the floor, stains on the carpet and an indescribable odour lingering in the air. And that was just the living room.

Harry made a strangled noise of disgust. “This place is filthy!”

“Yeah. The only person who cleans it is my mum, and they spend most of the time at ours, anyway. He’s a right dirty bastard.” Louis observed the place, sizing it up while tapping his chin pensively as he often did when he was thinking.

“What should we do, then? I highly doubt there’s anything of value here to steal. From the looks of things he doesn’t really value much of anything.”

“Hmm”, Louis thought out-loud while continuing to tap his chin. Suddenly a look of revelation appeared on his face and he turned to Harry, his lips pulling into a grin. “Let’s fuck with this prick’s head.”

*

Louis came up with the brilliant idea of re-arranging the entire house and cleaning it from top-to-bottom. Harry initially groaned at the idea, but Louis was quickly able to convince him of the utter geniusness of the plan and they got to work. They started by picking up the clothes, making a game out of it by setting a basket at the other side of the room and throwing the clothes like basketballs. Harry took the basket down to the basement and threw the clothes into the washing machine. When he made it back upstairs he found Louis standing in the middle of the living room, throwing the empty take-out boxes into a large black garbage bag.

Harry grabbed a broom and dust pan and began sweeping the floor, the dust quickly accumulating under the frayed bristles. As Louis moved to the back door to dispose of the garbage bag he kicked the pile of dust Harry was beginning to sweep into the dust pan, muttering a sarcastic “oops!” Harry flipped him the bird and collected the dust again swiftly. 

When Louis returned, he scanned the room again. “We’re still not even close to being done.”

“It would appear so.”

“No bother. I brought reinforcements.” He grinned and pulled a plastic bag containing two joints from his pocket.

“Won’t he smell it, though?” Harry said warily.

Louis rolled his eyes. “That’s why we open the windows.”

He walked over to the large window in the living room and unlocked it, pushing the door open. “All right, you go get the mop while I spark this up. This floor is so sticky I wouldn’t be surprised if someone drowned it in buckets of cum.”

Harry made a disgusted face and did as he was told, finding the mop and bucket in a near-by closet. It was still full of murky, dingy water, and Harry’s face contorted in displeasure as he carried it to the kitchen. He dumped the water in the sink and re-filled it pouring in a generous amount of soap and mixing it around with his fingers.

They shared the joint as Harry mopped the floor and Louis arranged the various DVDs that cluttered the TV stand, Louis playing music with his iPod and Harry doing a strange sort of dance with the mop. Louis laughed at him, as Harry used the stick of the mop as a stripper pole and danced what he assumed was supposed to be seductively. Harry always was quite funny when he was stoned; weed made him much more open.

Louis blasted heavy metal as they cleaned the dishes, shouting ‘Run to the Hills’ by Iron Maiden at the top of his lungs as Harry giggled while drying them. They were having a wicked time for only cleaning a house, although Louis felt it was mostly because he spent the entire time imagining what Seamus’s face would look like when he got home. It would be nothing short of priceless. He really wished he could stick around to see it.

When they finished cleaning, after a good 2 hours or so, the two fell back against the front of the sofa and heaved a long sigh. Louis reached over the side table and fetched the ash tray, pulling his pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with his lighter. With their legs stretched out in front of them they sat down to rest.

Louis took a long drag of the cigarette and eyed Harry out of the corner of his eye. He was staring at the fag, a strange, vacant sort of longing in his expression. Louis watched him as he took another, before holding it out to him and offering him a drag. Harry twisted his mouth in consideration, appearing as though he was assigned with the difficult task of deciding whether to get pepperoni or bacon his pizza, before reaching out hesitantly. He held the filter tentatively between his fingers and stared at it for a moment. Louis watched in bemusement as he breathed in quietly and raised it to his lips.

“You’re holding it wrong. Here,” Louis instructed, resting his right hand over knuckles while taking the fag with his other. “You hold it like this.” Harry watched, in what could only be described as awe, as Louis’s fingers caressed his, spreading them apart and placing it between his middle and index fingers. Their eyes met and Harry’s breath hitched audibly. “Try it now.”

Surprisingly not withering under Louis’s intense gaze, Harry brought the cigarette to his lips with shaky fingers and took a drag, sucking in the smoke. He didn’t cough even as he exhaled. Louis figured he had the weed experience to take credit for that.

“It’s not too bad,” he muttered, clearing his throat but still not breaking eye contact. He seemed almost mesmerized, struck, as if he had ascended to a different plane. “A bit”, he swallowed, “a bit bitter, but… not too bad.”

Louis nodded silently and removed it from his fingers, keeping his gaze heavy on Harry as he once again raised it to his lips. He lifted his head slightly to blow out the smoke, cautious as to not blow it directly into Harry’s face. An unfamiliar feeling settled in his gut as he and Harry locked eyes, a warm, fluttery, entirely unsafe sensation. It felt a lot like lust. His eyes dropped to his lips as Harry’s own did the same, the tension in the room present and palpable. As their heads began to inch forward ever so slightly and Harry’s eyes grew half-lidded, they heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

They both sprung apart immediately shouting mutual cries of, “Shit! Shit, shit!” and scrambled toward the window. Louis turned the lock clumsily and threw it open ushering Harry out with a hand on his back and whispers of, “Go! Go! Go!” He jumped out after him, leaving the windows wide open and chasing after Harry’s retreating form. Louis caught up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him backwards before he made it around the corner of the house. He waited for Seamus to enter the house, then pushed Harry forward and ran with him along the sidewalk, laughing uncontrollably at Harry’s wide-eyed, unbelievably scared expression.

When they were finally out of sight they both stopped, hunching over with their hands on their knees and panting loudly. Louis was still laughing while Harry sounded like he was hyperventilated a little bit, his eyes blown wide with shock and fear. 

“You all right?” Louis asked breathily, his voice catching slightly on the last word. 

“Yeah”, Harry squeaked. “Holy shit… That was an adrenaline rush.”

“Yeah, yeah, it was. I’m surprised we don’t hear - her him screaming even from this far.”

“Do you think he’ll know it was you?”

Louis gave him a stern look. “Harry. Why would anyone come to the conclusion that their girlfriend’s son broke into their house… to clean it up?”

“I don’t know but why would anyone break into somebody’s house to clean it up?”

“Good point. Plausible deniability, I suppose. Hopefully he doesn’t check for fingerprints.”

“So what are you doing now?” Harry asked. “Are - are you busy? Or?”

“Actually, I’m, uh, going out with my mates in a bit, but I can walk you home, if you like? You don’t live too far.”

Harry frowned. “No. No, it’s okay. I’ll text my mum to come get me. Save you the inconvenience.” He smiled weakly.

“Are you sure?” Louis asked guiltily feeling as though he’d disappointed the boy, although he wasn’t entirely sure why he cared.

“No, it’s fine, really. You can just go on.”

“Well, all right. If you insist. I’ll see you, Harry. This was quite fun, actually.”

“Yeah, it was.” He pulled out his fun. “We should - we should do it again sometime.

Louis grinned widely. “You mean break into somebody’s house and clean it?”

Harry managed a small smile. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Well, have a good night then.”

Louis turned and decided pointedly he didn’t notice the way Harry stared at his back as he walked into the snowy distance.

When Louis returned home, he found his mum and his sisters all huddled together on the couch, lights off with a bowl of popcorn between them. On the telly was ‘Love Actually’ and Louis rolled his eyes because of course they’d be watching that dreadful movie. Nonetheless, he smiled fondly at them and walked over, giving each of them a gentle kiss on the forehead. The youngest two, Daisy and Phoebe, a pair of rambunctious blonde twins, leaped off the couch to attack him in a hug, Daisy gripping at his leg and Phoebe wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

He patted them both on the back, relishing the quiet tenderness of the moment before walking over to give his mother a kiss as a sign of silent forgiveness. She smiled softly at him, running her fingers through his fringe before settling her palm against his cheek. She nodded before leaning forward and kissing his cheek, communicating her own forgiveness. Louis bumped his forehead against her affectionately, mouthing ‘going out’, to which she once again nodded. 

He placed the key back on her dresser, thankful she hadn’t noticed he’d taken it. He then made his way to his room to find his hottest outfit, do his hair, and make himself look as fuckable as humanly possible.

*

He ended up settling on a thick line of eyeliner, a tight black, long-sleeved shirt, his tightest black skinny jeans and his favourite studded belt. He spiked his hair which he didn’t normally do, but the times he had he’d gotten great luck and once even pulled twice in the same night. He observed his appearance in the mirror. He definitely looked good.

By the time he was on his fourth drink at the club, it really didn’t matter because his hair was too sweaty from the plethora of hot, gyrating bodies surrounding him and his own flustered fiddling with it. He downed tequila shots with Niall and Liam while Zayn made out with a well-endowed, curvy blonde at the end of the bar (Zayn always did have a thing for blondes). He was feeling significantly buzzed although he drank so much alcohol that 2 shots of tequila and four beers wouldn’t get him close to hammered.

As Liam chatted up a petite, slightly built brunette and Niall made an ass out of himself on the dance floor, Louis treated himself to two shots of vodka, barely even thinking about his end-of-the-night tab. As he downed the second shot he locked eyes with someone across the dance floor, a tall, thinly-built bloke with shaggy blonde hair and intense, half-lidded blue eyes. Louis threw back the shot and let some of the bitter alcohol trickle down his chin, licking his lips slowly and darkening his gaze. The guy tilted his head in the direction of the restrooms, his expression predatory and impatient. Louis nodded and set down the shot glass, not even bothering to consult the boys before heading in the other direction. He was finally about to get laid and he hadn’t even put in any effort. There was no way he was letting this go this waste. The guy was hot, game and ready for action, and Louis couldn’t say no to that.

When they made it to the door, Louis pulled the guy into the washroom, basically throwing him into one of the stalls and shoving him against the wall roughly. He immediately latched his mouth onto his neck, sinking his teeth in and dragging his tongue across the prickly, stubbled flesh. The guy moaned and gripped the back of Louis’s head, pulling his face up so they were kissing, tongues licking into each other’s mouths. He was much bigger than Louis, so he easily manoeuvred them around and slammed Louis against the wall, detaching their lips and mouthing along his jaw. 

“You like that?” He muttered against his chin.

Louis groaned and brought their mouths back together to shut him up, shrugging off his jacket and using it to cushion his back, which was pressed rather painfully against the hard bathroom wall. He didn’t trust the cleanliness of the place enough to take off his shirt, but allowed the guy to unbuckle his belt and pull his trousers down, using his jacket to cover his arse.

He was already half hard, and let out a gasp when the guy gripped his cock and continued to bite his neck and collarbones. He gave it a few heady strokes, before dropping down to his knees and taking it into his mouth. Louis’s eyes squeezed shut at the sudden warmth, a pleased smile gracing his features as he relaxed at the contact, gripping the sides of the wall for support. It had been so long since he’d been sucked off, though he hadn’t forgotten how good it felt. He allowed his mind to go blank, the only thoughts coursing around being his moans and groans of pleasure. 

As the guy’s head bobbed between his thighs, and Louis took fistfuls of his hair between his fingers and pushed his face down harder, he found the chorus of ‘fuck yeahs’ reverberating around his head being replaced with images. Images of pale skin, full, plump, rosy lips, and wide, innocent green eyes. Louis was startled for a moment, releasing the guy’s hair and throwing his head back against the stall, his eyes widening.

Louis wasn’t a liar, not to himself, at least. He wouldn’t deny that he had thought about Harry like that a few times. The kid had a mean pair of lips on him, so full and gorgeous that he couldn’t help but wonder how they would feel sliding up and down his cock. But he had been there these times; talking while Louis pretended to listen. This was new. He’d never randomly popped into his head before, especially not while Louis had his dick in some random bloke’s mouth. 

He couldn’t help but wonder how Harry would feel if he knew this was a regular occurrence for Louis; that he often got sucked off in club restrooms and, on the odd occasion, fucked. The kid obviously had a crush on him, and for the most part, Louis found it cute. He didn’t take him seriously, as he was only 16 with barely a friend to his name, but it was something he could have fun with. He didn’t want to hurt the kid; Harry was too sweet for that. For some strange reason, Louis actually kind of liked him.

“Do you want me to stop?” The guy spoke suddenly, startling Louis slightly. “You’re kind of going a bit soft on me…”

“No”, he protested, threading his fingers back into his hair. “Keep, keep going”.

With that, Louis turned his focus back to more important matters of the moment, which was getting off in a dingy bathroom while his friends got wasted outside.


	7. Chapter 7

The remainder of Christmas break ended up being a bit of a bore for Harry. Mrs. Whinshaw’s Macbeth essay was due the day they got back, which he wasn’t keen on working on as it was the second Shakespeare play they’d studied that term and it was still about as interesting as watching paint dry. Harry wanted to get it done so he could relax for the last few days of vacation, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus. He hadn’t seen or heard from Louis in 3 days and it was beginning to do his head in.

Louis was frustrating, to say the least. He was the master of mixed signals and Harry was beginning to question whether he was patient enough or clever enough to understand them. He felt a bit pathetic; he didn’t want to be one of those people who spent all of their time thinking about their crush but he couldn’t help it. Louis was just so confusing. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but Harry did have eyes, and he saw the way he looked at him. During that microscopic moment when Harry had closed his eyes and willed Louis to kiss him, he could’ve sworn he felt him leaning in as well.

Harry spent the entirety of Thursday afternoon slouched in a chair at the kitchen table, rubbing circles into his forehead, racking his brain for some kind of explanation. It was driving him mad. He had been attracted to Louis since the day they’d met; he was sure that much was obvious, but that was over 3 months ago. They were friends now. Good friends, Harry liked to think. They got along quite well for two people who had seemingly nothing in common and Harry really enjoyed their time together. Louis was funny, he was spontaneous, a bit mischievous and more than a little cynical. He was everything Harry wasn’t and a lot of what he wished he could be.

He had nerve and he didn’t care what people thought about him. For that, Harry both admired and envied him. Unfortunately, for all that Harry loved about Louis, there were qualities that he absolutely hated and every single one of them had to do with his attitude toward relationships. He had made it clear he had no interest in pursuing one, that he didn’t believe in love at all though he wouldn’t give any reason.

Harry let out a deep sigh, pulling off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. He regarded the papers that lay across the table and shoved them away in frustration. He slipped his glasses back on and crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair. Life really was easier when he had no friends, especially ones named Louis Tomlinson.

“Are you all right, baby?” His mum asked as she walked down the stairs into the kitchen. “You don‘t look so good.” She stood behind him and ran her fingers through his curls, pressing her palm against his forehead. “You don’t have a temperature.”

“I’m okay, mum. Just a little stressed is all.”

“Are you sure?” Concern was evident in her voice as she sat in the chair across from him. “Is it your course work?”

Harry considered lying to her and saying yes but he never had been a very good liar, and his mum was the closest thing he had to a confidante. He couldn’t exactly talk to Louis about how he was feeling. He was the person in question, after all, and he was going a bit mad holding it all in, so he figured to hell with it.

“No,” he grumbled. “It’s not school.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s, it’s actually Louis.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Louis? As in your best mate Louis? The one I hear all about but have never had the pleasure of meeting? That Louis?”

“Yes, mum, how many other Louis’s do you think I know?” He said impatiently.

“Just asking for conformation purposes, no need to get snippy. Did you guys have a row?”

“No. That’s not it at all. He just, he confuses me,” he admitted.

“In what way, sweetheart?”

“Well, I mean, I think it’s pretty bloody obvious at this point that I fancy him.”

Anne smiled softly. “Sure,” she replied, nodding her head. “You do seem to get a glint in your eye when you talk about him.”

Harry blushed, hiding his face in the collar of his shirt.

“Do you know if he’s,” she paused, “into blokes as well?”

“Yeah, it was… it was actually one of the first things I found out about him.”

“Well, that’s a definite advantage, isn’t it?” She said enthusiastically. “Although you’ve gotta remember, just because you’re both gay doesn’t mean you’d make a good match, yeah?”

Harry nodded absently. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“So, how long, roughly, have you felt this way about him?”

He considered the question for a moment. “Since I met him, really. Well, see, I thought he was fit. But I didn’t think we’d ever become friends. But now we are and it’s like… it’s gotten worse, because now I actually fancy him, you know? Not just because I think he’s hot.”

“Do you think he feels the same about you?”

“That’s the thing!” He groaned. “That’s why I’m so frustrated. I have no idea what he’s thinking, ever. It drives me crazy. He’s just so… distant all the time. I really, really like him, mum. And I don’t know how he feels about me. I don’t know how he feels about anything, because he never tells me.”

Anne seemed to think about his answer for a moment, her expression pensive. She tapped her long nails against the table before opening her mouth to speak. “Maybe… it’s not words you should be looking for? From what you’ve told me, this Louis seems to be a pretty guarded person, yeah?” Harry nodded in agreement. “So you can’t really expect him to be too up-front, really. Try looking for the little things. See if he acts differently around you than he does around his other friends.”

“But I don’t know his other friends, mum. I met them once and all they did was take the piss,” he mumbled slumping further down in the chair and resting his chin against his hands.

“Well… maybe just play it by ear, then? Spend some more time with him and see where it goes?” She said hopefully although Harry knew it was merely because she had run out of advice. He really was doomed.

“He hasn’t talked to me in a few days.”

She sighed, standing up from her chair and walking over to him. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Maybe he’s just busy, babe. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” She gently tucked her finger under his chin and tilted his face up. “Chin up, love. I don’t want you fretting over this, all right? He’s become a good friend of yours, and that’s good enough for now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” he sighed.

“Good.” She kissed his cheek and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Now, enough boy troubles. What would you like for supper?”

*

Harry had never been particularly bitter about his lack of a social life, but sitting in his room with a bowl of popcorn, watching videos on the internet while his mom showered and pampered herself for a night on the town with her work friends, was beginning to make him feel like a bit of a loser. It wasn’t that he minded being alone; in fact he preferred it a lot of the time. But since he’d gone 4 days without seeing Louis it was becoming a bit hard to stand.

‘How is this my life? Am I really that much of an awkward prat?’

“How do I look, sweetheart?” Anne asked cheerily.

Harry spun around in his chair to see her standing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of classy white pants, a button-up blue vest and her favourite black heels. Her eye make-up was minimal, her lids coated with a simple shimmery beige and a thin line of eyeliner, her lips a bold shade of red. She looked quite stunning.

“You look wonderful, mum. Hopefully you meet a nice fella tonight.”

She chuckled and waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I don’t count on it. We’re just going to a bar, actually, nothing fancy. What are your plans for tonight then?”

“Haven’t got any,” he sighed. “Probably just gonna sit here and play Call of Duty all night. Welcome to my exciting life.”

She frowned sympathetically. “Still no word from Louis, then?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, mum, he doesn’t owe me anything,” he replied cynically. “He doesn’t have to call me if he doesn’t want to. I don’t own him.”

“It sounds like you’re moping, dear.” She brushed her knuckles against his cheek. “Why can’t you call him?”

“I don’t want to bother him if he’s busy. Like what if I call and he’s doing something and he gets annoyed with me?”

“Aw, sweetheart,” she sighed, bending over to give him a hug. “Don’t make things more complicated than they need to be. He’s your friend, he’s not going to get annoyed with you.”

He patted her on the back, accepting the hug half-heartedly. “I think I’ll just wait for him to do it. He’s always the one who decides anyway.”

“All right, but you’re never going to get anywhere in life waiting on others to make your decisions for you, you do know that?” There was a sound of a blaring car horn outside their house. “Well, there’s my ride. Don’t be sad, okay, dear? If you’re feeling lonely you can always call your sister.”

“I was skyping with her the other day,” Harry acknowledged.

“Good, I’m sure she’d love to hear from you again.” She smiled and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “I love you, darling.”

“Love you too,” he mumbled as she made her way toward the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, most likely, if you’re not up by the time I get home,” she called as she exited his room, before stepping carefully down the stairs.

Harry spent the following hour doing exactly what he thought he’d be doing; playing Call of Duty, eating crisps and thinking about Louis. He wondered, as he ate his way through an entire bag of salt and vinegar, if Louis would still like him if he was fat. 

When he realized how pathetic that was, he grumpily reached forward to turn off his gaming console, falling back against the floor and huffing a dramatic sigh. Sometimes it really sucked to have only one friend. Especially when that friend was someone you fancied the pants off of and more often than not wanted to take the pants off of. 

Harry was contemplating just going to sleep to take his mind off of things, but it was only 9:00 and he wasn’t tired. He decided to go downstairs into the kitchen to make himself something to eat, but was distracted by the sudden ringing of the doorbell as he stepped off the final stair. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He wasn’t expecting anyone, obviously, and those annoying door-to-door sellers usually didn’t come around this late. Strange.

He cautiously opened the front door and was startled to find four familiar figures, with their hair combed high, leather and denim clothing and eyes similarly rimmed with lines of thick black kohl. Standing before him was Louis and his mates from the party, Zayn, Liam, and Niall, Louis with a massive grin and the others slouching apathetically.

“Harry!” He attested loudly. “Long time no see. Can we come in?”

“Uh…” Harry barely had the chance to respond, let alone grasp the situation, before Louis was pushing past him and letting himself in, the others following behind and nodding in his direction.

“Where’d you guys come from?” He asked bewilderedly.

“We were just chilling over at Zayn’s,” Louis clarified, shoving his hands in his jeans pocket.

There was an awkward pause, in which Harry and Louis stared at each other and the others consciously avoided each other’s eyes.

“So… what are you lot doing here?”

“Selling girl scout cookies, of course,” Louis deadpanned. “We’re here to see you, you daft twat.”

“Well, yeah, I figured as much, I just mean… what are they doing here?” He indicated Zayn, Liam, and Niall.

“What? Have you got a problem with us?” Niall asked defensively.

“No! No, I - I don’t. Not at all, it’s just… a bit of a surprise, that’s all,” he stumbled awkwardly while avoiding all eye contact.

“Is your mom at home?” Louis surveyed the living room.

“No, she, uh, she goes out with her friends on Friday night.”

“Brilliant! So we can carry on with our kidnapping, then.”

“What are you on about?” Harry scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“You’re coming clubbing with us,” Louis chirped enthusiastically. “Now show us to your bathroom. We’ve gotta make you look like a tramp.”

“Wait, wait, what?” Harry sputtered. “I can’t go to a club!”

“Why not?” Louis whined.

“I’m 16 and look it and don’t have a fake ID,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s all right,” Liam piped up. “We go to that club all the time, they won’t question it if you’re with us.”

Harry looked at him, confusion brimming in his eyes. “Look, I don’t mean to be confrontational or anything… but it didn’t really seem like you guys liked me that much, when I was at your party.”

“Yeah,” said Niall, shrugging. “We’re just not used to seeing people like you at parties, and we’re not exactly easy to impress. But Louis here says you’re a bit of all right, so we figured we’d give you a shot.”

“I just wanted to see what he looked like in eyeliner,” Zayn muttered to Liam, who snickered.

“Come on, Harry,” Louis pleaded, pouting sarcastically. “Live a little.”

“I don’t know…”

“We’ll get you home before your mom gets home, promise.”

Harry’s insides were alight with nerves, his heart beating erratically in his chest as they stared at him expectantly. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to go with them, a part that yearned for acceptance from Louis’s friends and Louis himself, that he feared he wouldn’t get if he rejected their offer. But then there was that other part, the old Harry floating to the front of his conscience telling him, ‘No, nothing good can come out of this, you’ll just embarrass yourself. The silence pressed on and Harry bit his lip, looking back and forth between Louis and the other guys.

He swallowed thickly. “What do you mean you’ve gotta… make me look like a tramp?” He asked nervously.

Louis grinned. “Make you look like one of us,” he explained, indicating their outfits.

“Punk?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yeah. Come on, it’ll be fun. Don’t worry, we’ll watch your back, we know the place like the back of our hands. What do you say?”

There was another long, stretching pause. Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

“Okay.”

*

Harry was sat on the seat of the toilet, staring wondrously into four pairs of inspecting eyes.

“I’m really not sure what to do with his hair, mate,” Zayn said to Louis, who was stroking his chin thoughtfully. 

“Me neither,” Louis agreed running his fingers through it roughly. “It’s just really curly. Not much you can do with it, I’m afraid.”

“Wanna just leave it as is, then?” Niall suggested.

“I don’t know, it doesn’t really go with the whole look, does it?”

“Who says punks can’t have curly hair? Is there some sort of rule I’m unaware of?” Liam quipped.

“We could shave it,” Zayn smirked.

Harry jolted backwards. “No!”

“Calm down, mate,” Louis laughed. “He’s just joking. Besides we’re trying to make him look like a punk, not a skinhead. All right, so we’ll leave the hair. Let’s get on to the make-up then.”

“What are you gonna do to me?” Harry asked nervously.

“Relax, it’s just a bit of eyeliner,” he scoffed, opening a small pouch of the backpack he was carrying and pulling out a thin black pencil. “We’re not gonna doll you up like a drag queen, for Christ’s sake.”

“Is this going to hurt?”

“Not unless you open your eye. All right, close ‘em, then.”

Harry looked at him warily before obeying, and he felt Louis hover over him and press the tip of the pencil against his eyelid. It was slightly cold and made Harry flinch slightly. Louis drew the lines quickly, then directed him to open his eyes once again.

“I need to put it underneath now.”

“What do you mean?”

He motioned to the lower rim of his eye. “Your waterline.”

“My what?”

“Oh, bugger off, it doesn’t hurt or anything. Just… look up.” Harry gave him a petrified look. “Don’t be such a baby, I do this all the time. Now look up”, he commanded more forcefully.

The guys watched in amusement as Harry groaned and once again did as he was instructed, cringing slightly as Louis once again rimmed his eyes with the kohl. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Harry made a face at him and stood up. “Can I see how it looks?”

“No!” Louis protested, shoving him back onto the toilet seat. “Not until we’re done. We want you to see the amazing transformation.” He winked at him and discarded the eyeliner into his bag, reaching in again and pulling out a small, circular object.

“What’s that now?”

“It’s a fake nose ring. Nicked it from my sister Lottie’s room. She’s going through a bit of a rebellious phase as well, although if you ask me she’s going about it all wrong.” He leaned down and hooked the ring around his right nostril before he could protest. “Perfect!”

Louis appeared to be having the time of his life while the others just stood and watched with vague interest. Harry hoped he was making a good impression by being willing to be put through this, but he also feared he looked like a massive twat with his fake jewellery and black-rimmed eyes. They could pull it off, because it was their thing, but it certainly wasn’t Harry’s, and for that he felt a bit of a fraud.

“Now for the most fun part,” Louis announced excitedly. “Your outfit.”

“Oh, god,” Harry moaned. 

“I brought a few of my things for you to wear. We’re about the same size, they may be a bit big on you but they’ll do. Zayn, since you’re the fashionista of the group and clearly know how to dress to kill, will you show dear Harry here what will look best on him?” 

Zayn rolled his eyes and opened the larger pouch of the backpack, sifting through the clothes haphazardly. He finally settled on a pair of dark wash jeans, a pair of black Vans, and a long-sleeved black shirt that looked like it was designed for women.

“Here,” he said blankly. “Louis likes ‘em tight.”

Liam and Niall snickered, elbowing Louis who merely rolled his eyes and swatted them both in the chest. “All right, pervs, let’s all go and give Harry some space to change. See you in a few, tiger,” Louis said with a wink, closing the door behind him.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered when they were out of sight. “This is going to be a long night.”

*

Harry regarded himself self-consciously in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. The nose ring was completely out of place, the shirt was so tight his nipples were protruding through the fabric, and the eyeliner made him look like a girl. There was no way he could pull this look off. He continued to stare at himself until he heard an obnoxious bang on the door.

“Come on, then!” Louis’s muffled yell resonated. “Let’s see you!”

He gave himself one last once-over before exhaling a sigh and opening the door, squeezing his eyes shut as they gazed upon him. It was quiet for a moment, too quiet, and Harry opened his eyes, taking in their bemused reactions.

Zayn, Liam, and Niall wore matching grins, looking him up and down and nodding their approval.

“You shape up really well,” Niall complimented.

“Yeah, mate,” Liam agreed. “You look pretty swell.”

Zayn nodded. “All because of my amazing fashion advice.”

Louis remained silent, and Harry met his blank expression with wide, hopeful eyes. He looked at him beseechingly, silently requesting his approval. Louis stared at his chest, before stepping forward and circling him slowly, stopping behind him to glance at his arse. Harry angled his head to see Louis raising his eyebrows in consideration, then moving back in front of him, closer this time, to make his final observation.

A smile slowly crossed his lips. “I’d say it’s a job well done, lads,” he announced. 

“You really think so?” Harry inquired dreamily.

“Yeah,” Louis confirmed, looking him in the eyes. “You look fit.”

Harry’s heart soared so high he swore it could reach the mountain tops. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice coming embarrassingly close to cracking. 

“All right, all right, he looks fit, we get it,” Zayn complained. “Now can we please get our asses out of here, ‘cause I really want to fucking get drunk.”

*

Entry into the club was as easy and hassle-free as Harry had hoped; in fact, the bouncer didn’t even question his presence at all. At that moment he was thankful for the punk disguise as it more than likely helped him blend into the crowd and make him look less like the awkward 16-year-old he was. Louis pressed his hand against Harry’s back to guide him into the club, a small, insignificant gesture that made Harry’s tummy flutter.

Harry was awestruck as he was led inside, bright, gleaming, colourful strobe lights reflecting off of every surface and setting the dance floor alight. Loud, booming music thumped through the room, the song’s heavy bass lines vibrating off the walls and unwinding the loose, gyrating bodies swarming the dance floor. Harry watched in pure mesmerisation, feeling impossibly small but also so extremely big in the intense, heated, unfamiliar environment. With Louis’s hand on his back and the music surrounding him, he swore he’d never felt so alive.

Harry was walking on the moon as he was guided over to the bar, where the boys seemed to make themselves at home immediately. Niall leaned over the bar, beckoning the bartender who seemed to recognize him. He greeted them all with familiarity before his eyes fell on Harry, who was standing behind Louis, spinning around and marvelling at the absolute wonder before his eyes.

“Whose the new kid?” He yelled over the music, pulling out 4 shot glasses from under the bar and setting them in front of him.

“This is Harry,” Louis replied, reaching over to turn Harry around. He threw an arm around his neck and pulled him close. “He’s a first timer, so we won’t be going easy on him. At all.” 

“Sounds great,” he laughed. “So you wanna start with the usual then?”

“Make it 5 this time!”

“Will do!” He pulled a 5th shot glass from under the counter, his other hand grabbing a tall bottle of vodka. He poured the clear liquid into each glass expertly and pushed them forward.

“Thanks, mate,” Zayn shouted lifting his glass and downing it before any of the others.

Louis picked up two and handed one to Harry, once again pulling him close by the shoulder. “Enjoy the burn,” he shouted into his ear. “This is going to be a bumpy night.”

Harry was so caught up in the ecstasy of the lights and the music and the incredible atmosphere that he grinned and took the glass without hesitation, clinking it against Louis’ and tossing it down his throat with reckless abandon. The taste was strong and bitter, causing Harry to shudder and contort his mouth in disgust. Louis laughed and patted his shoulder, leaning in to speak into his ear.

“Hopefully we’ll even be able to get you laid.”

With that simple statement Harry’s beaming smile vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“Wh-what?”

“That’s why we brought you here, you twat. To show you some action!” He grabbed the shot glasses the bartender had re-filled and shoved it into Harry’s hands. “Bottoms up, tiger!”

He downed the shot and turned back to the bar, letting out an excited yelp whilst Harry stared at him in confusion. Louis had called him fit, looked him straight in the eyes and said he was fit, and if Harry’s instincts were correct, had every intention to kiss him during their secluded moment in Seamus’s house, and now he was trying to get him laid? A million conflicting thoughts ran through his head as he stood there numbly clutching the shot glass, the deafening music becoming somehow unnoticeable to his ears.

*

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how much alcohol they’d collectively consumed in the half hour that followed, but he was almost certain it’d be enough to poison a grown man. He kept up with them, downing shot after shot and becoming accustomed to the unpleasant burn. He drank away his confusion, cursing Louis and his stupid fucking mercurial ways. With every shot the confusion began to feel more and more like resentment. Harry wasn’t a vindictive person, nor was he particularly mean-spirited, but he was human. He wanted to see the look on Louis’s face when he realized Harry could do fine on his own, that he needed neither his guidance or attention. 

The urge to find someone within the crowd to get off with purely out of spite was becoming quite an attractive idea to Harry. He was scanning the crowd determinedly when he felt an arm sling around his shoulder, the touch unfamiliar.

“The key,” he could tell from the thick Irish accent the arm belonged to Niall, “to hookin’ up is to scout your options. Look for who’s checkin’ you out, lure them in a little bit. You’re into blokes, right?” Harry nodded. “All right, that makes it a little easier then. Wait for them to come to you. Girls aren’t gonna try to buy you drinks, but guys will.”

“Then what?”

“You go dance with ‘em.”

“I can’t dance!” Harry sputtered, recoiling in horror.

“Neither can I, really, but that hasn’t stopped me from gettin’ laid. Just… move your hips to the music. Grind up on them a little bit to get them going. They’ll know what you’re after and it’ll make it go by a bit a faster.”

Harry nodded as he continued to scan the crowd, inhaling deeply to calm his nerves and instil some courage within himself to move forward. “Do you think I can do this?”

“Sure you can! Anyone can get laid if they try hard enough, and I don’t think you’ll have to try very hard at all.”

“Is that a compliment?” Harry grinned.

“I suppose so. Now get your arse out thev’re and mingle!” Niall hit him on the arse and pushed him, laughing as Harry stumbled forward and nearly face-planted onto the floor. Harry turned back to look at Louis, who was too absorbed in conversation with Zayn and Liam to notice his absence. This only succeeded in annoying Harry further, his previous hesitancy replaced with implacable determination as he stepped onto the dance floor.

Suddenly there were multiple pairs of eyes on him, male and female, and he tried his best not to feel intimidated as they stared him down like a cougar on the prowl. Harry swallowed his fears and met their gazes with brazen confidence, doing as he was instructed and moving his hips, although somewhat timidly, to the music. The song playing was a strange dubstep remix of some song Harry’d never heard of, and he’d always wondered how one could even dance to dubstep, so he kept it simple and remained faithful to the always reliable hip sway and foot tap.

He snuck a glance back to the bar, where Zayn was now absent and Niall had preceded to begin chatting up a pretty, petite brunette. He found Liam and Louis whispering to each other and waved, before his view was suddenly obscured. His space was being crowded by a tall, dark-haired bloke dressed in a band t-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. Harry was overwhelmed, retreating backwards slightly and angling his head once again to Liam and Louis. They spotted him, and Liam gave him a broad smile and a thumbs up in approval, while Louis merely stared blankly.

“Are you gonna leave me hanging babe, or are you gonna dance with me?” The guy said into his ear, his lips pulling into a crooked smile.

“Sorry, I was just looking for my mates,” Harry apologized. 

“Did you find them?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, well let’s get to it then.”

He tugged Harry against him by the hips, eliciting a small, barely audible gasp from him and pulled him close by the small of his back. Harry stared up at him in awe, responding to the grinds of his hips and throwing his arms around his neck, unaware as to where else to put them. The guy was good-looking enough, with interesting, slightly crinkled features, hair styled upwards in a trendy quiff. He looked young, not much older than Harry, and his body was strong, hard, and lean, the type of body Harry typically found himself attracted to.

Even so, he still found himself glancing toward the bar, his eyes locking with Louis as the guy changed courses and began nipping at his neck. Louis’s expression was unreadable in the dark crowdedness of the club, but Harry could see he wasn’t smiling and appeared to have quite a strong grip on the beer he was holding. Harry smirked smugly, hoping what he was inspecting from even this distance was jealousy on Louis’s part, and returned his attention to the lips on his neck and the hands on his waist.

Harry tried not to think too hard about Louis’s sudden 180; why he was the one who encouraged Harry to get laid and now that he had an option seemed to be acting like a jealous prat. It wasn’t fair to Harry, and he wasn’t having it, so when he pulled the guy’s head up and kissed him full on the mouth, he didn’t open his eyes to witness Louis’s reaction. He kept them closed, pushing his tongue past the guy’s lips and rubbing their crotches together. This confidence was new to him and he knew it had nothing to do with himself, really, as alcohol was labelled ‘liquid courage’ for a reason, but it was exhilarating and he was rather enjoying it.

What he was really enjoying was not so much the guy’s tongue down his throat, but the thought that he had enough power over Louis to leave him leaning against the bar seething with jealousy. When they broke apart, the guy leaned over to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“You wanna take this somewhere more private?” He growled hotly.

Harry grinned, craning his neck to look back at Louis. He had turned around now and appeared to be trying to talk to Liam, who seemed to be more invested in a conversation he was having with the bartender. He threw his arms up in aggravation and turned around, slumping against the bar and searching out Harry. His gaze froze on the two of them locked together, Harry’s arms still draped around the guy’s necks, and he stiffened immediately.

“Let’s go for it,” he said, allowing the guy to drag him forward through the crowd. He beamed at Louis, who gave him a wan smile and a curt wave as his eyes followed their retreating figures. Harry was nearly bursting at the seams with excitement, almost skipping as they neared the toilets. As the guy pushed the door open and the reality of what he was about to do hit Harry, his ebullience disappeared about as quickly as it transpired, and he realized he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. His brazenness collapsed in on itself, and he returned to his normal, awkward, callow self. Liquid courage was apparently not long-lasting, and Harry felt hopelessly out of his element.

The second the door closed Harry felt himself being tugged by his impossibly tight shirt and pushed into the nearest stall. He felt light-headed and woozy, blood rushing to his head as the guy attached their mouths and immediately began sucking on his bottom lip. His skin felt hot and prickly and he was concerned he might pass out. The guy latched his teeth onto his neck and began removing his own shirt, aggressively biting and licking up and down his neck.

“Um, so, what’s - what’s your name?” Harry asked shakily, completely oblivious to the etiquette of random hook-ups.

“Nick,” he replied breathily, continuing his attack on Harry’s collarbones.

“I’m - I’m Harry.”

“That’s great.” He kissed him again, lifting Harry’s shirt and running his fingers across his ribs.

“So, uh, how old are you?”

“What is this, a fucking blind date or something?”

“I’m just - just curious, is all.”

“Well do you want to get fucked or not? Because I’m not here to chat, I’m here to get off.”

Hurt swam in Harry’s eyes as his lips curled into a pout and he was suddenly shoving the guy off of him, turning around and resting his forehead against the cool stall.

“Oh, shit,” Nick groaned. “Mate, I’m sorry, I probably sound like a huge prick. You’ve never hooked up with someone in a club before, have you?”

“I’ve never been to a club before, period,” he whimpered.

“Is it - is it your 18th, or something?” He asked, clearly feeling awkward.

“No. I’m - I’m actually only 16,” he mumbled, turning around to face him. He wiped a few tears from his eyes. 

“Shit, I thought you looked a bit young. How’d you even get in? Fake ID?”

“Nah. My - my mates are regulars here, they got me in. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, I’m just… just drunk.” He leaned against the stall and slid down, slumping on the floor in a defeated heap. 

“Are you sure you’re all right? I mean, I know it was a bit harsh, but… I’m pretty sure it was obvious what I was after. It’s like, no offence or anything.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I’m just so fucking confused,” he cried, resting his arms on his knees and burying his face into them. 

Nick sighed and sat down in front of him, positioning himself awkwardly against the wall. “Well, I’ll feel like an even bigger dick if I just leave you here like this so… what’s wrong?”

Harry looked up at him, wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeve. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I know you don’t care.”

“No, but I was a confused kid like you once, I can’t just leave you in here. I’m not that awful. So… are you like, confused about whether you like blokes or not?”

“No,” Harry moaned in frustration. “That’s not it. I’m gay, I already know that. I came out when I was 15.”

“All right… then what are you confused about?”

“I just… there’s this guy. And I really like him. I thought he might like me too. He brought me here tonight and I thought it might mean something but… he just told me I should pull. He brought me here so I could fucking hook up with someone else! Then he has the nerve to get pissy when I do! I mean… what the fuck is his deal?!”

“Hmm, well,” he said thoughtfully, “um, so, he’s been sending you mixed signals then?”

“Yes! Why do you think I’m so torn up about it?”

“I see, well… is he in, you know, denial about being gay and stuff?”

“Not at all! He just… has this really stupid and fucked up philosophy about love and how it doesn’t exist and all this bullshit.”

“Oh, where have I heard that before?” Nick chuckled. “Sounds to me like the bloke is in denial.”

Harry sniffled. “You think?” He asked hopefully.

“Well, if he was trying to get you to pull and then getting weirdly jealous about it, it probably means he’s pretending like the idea of you with someone else doesn’t really bother him when it actually does,” he explained with surprising sincerity. “Trust me, I’ve dated a lot of blokes, I know how this stuff works.”

“So what do I do then?”

“Erm, well, if you want, you can tell him we actually did do something in here…”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that,” Harry protested. “I’m a horrible liar.”

Nick laughed, combing his fingers through his thick dark hair and shrugging. “All right, then. I’ll help you find them, and I’ll kiss you to make it look convincing, yeah? Then tell them I sucked you or of something, and see how he reacts. Sound good?”

Harry stared at him in bemusement. “You’re actually really cool. I honestly thought you were just gonna leave me here.”

“You seemed a bit lost and I’m not a total prick. I mean, I really did want to get laid but I was kinda put off when you told me you were 16. See, I’m 20. You’re fit and all, but I don’t normally go that young, you know?”

“I actually… don’t normally look like this,” Harry laughed. “The guy I like, he’s punk, you see, and I let him and his mates play dress up with me for tonight.”

Nick grinned. “Eager to impress, are we?”

“Oh, piss off. You’re lucky I’m drunk, I don’t usually talk this much,” he said, pushing himself up.

“I’d say you’re a bit luckier, seeing as you got some advice out of me. Here.” He reached out and rubbed at the corner of Harry’s eyes. “Your eyeliner smudged a bit. It’s fine now.”

“By the way,” Nick said as they exited the stall, “for someone who isn’t punk you can certainly pull off the look quite well.”

Harry beamed at him. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone I said that, I may get arrested.”

“I think that’s the least of your concern considering you’re the one that gave me this necklace right here,” he replied cheekily, indicating the bruises on his neck that had already began to surface.

He laughed and shook his head. “Cheeky.”

They exited the bathroom together and Harry looked around to spot Louis and the boys. The club was dark and the strobe lights made it difficult to distinguish between faces, but thankfully they hadn’t moved since Harry had left with Nick and it was Niall who spotted them first, a grin spreading across his mouth. He nudged Louis, who seemed to be pounding back shots at the bar, and raised his hand to wave them over.

When they made it over, Zayn, Liam, and Niall were smirking at them while Louis merely stood there with an indifferent look on his face, gesturing for another shot from the bartender. Nick greeted them all briefly before leaning toward Harry and whispering loudly in his ear.

“Hope it works out for you, mate.”

Harry gripped his shoulders and pulled his ear toward his mouth. “Thanks a lot, man.”

Nick grinned and leaned down to kiss him as promised, his lips covering Harry’s thoroughly and his hand resting against his arse. Harry kissed back, moving their lips together in a way he hoped came across as passionate and convincing, before pulling back with a sparkly smile. 

“I’ll see you!”

When Nick disappeared into the crowd and Harry turned back to the boys, they practically jumped on him.

“Harry, you tramp, you!” Niall shouted enthusiastically. “We didn’t think you had it in you!”

Liam pulled Harry by the neck and gave him a hard noogie. “Good on you, mate! Louis taught you well!”

Harry attempted to look up from where Liam had him in a headlock to observe Louis’s face. He was leaning against the bar, a tight smile on his features and his eyes squinted and unreadable. He didn’t appear nearly as excited as the others did, and Harry wasn’t even friends with them.

“What do you think, Lou?” Harry yelled. “Are you proud of me or what?”

Louis shrugged apathetically, turning around and picking up another shot glass filled to the top with clear liquid. He lifted the glass in a toast, alcohol spilling over the edges a little. “Congratulations,” he said, and Harry could’ve sworn he detected a hit of sarcasm in his tone. “Hope he wasn’t as bad as he looks!”

Liam, Niall and Zayn all exchanged glances, and Harry found himself grinning, somehow feeling as if he’d won some sort of a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 11 chapters so far and they're all posted on my Tumblr, which used to be louisandharrystolemysoul so, but is now stylinpixie. I'll be posting the rest here a bit later x


	8. Chapter 8

Harry awoke the next morning in absolute agony. There was a kink in his neck, his eyes were sore, his throat was dry and it felt as if there was a jackhammer drilling through his temple. He had never understood the meaning behind the term ‘pounding headache’, but then, suffering the woes of a massive hangover, he concluded that the phrase was in fact utterly accurate. There was a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that twisted and turned and radiated through his chest, and he tore himself out of bed in a bad dash to the bathroom as the feeling rose to the back of his throat and threatened to spill everywhere.

He retched over the toilet bowl, gripping the sides and wincing painfully as it burned his throat and he tasted alcohol from the night before. He coughed and spit the remaining vomit into the murky water, then pushed himself off and stood in front of the mirror. He looked like a train wreck. There was eyeliner smudged across his eyelids and cheeks, dark, blue circles underneath his eyes, and his lips were dry and chapped. He groaned at the image and reached for his toothbrush, squeezing a bit of paste on the bristles and vigorously cleansing his mouth of the bitter taste. After a gargle of mouth wash, he stripped and jumped in the shower, letting the hot water spill over his hair and face and jolt him awake.

By the time he had dried his hair, slipped into a t-shirt and sweatpants, and made himself appear semi-presentable, he realized it was half 2 in the afternoon and his mum was nowhere in sight. He called for her a few times to no avail, and honestly felt a bit relieved when he checked his phone to see a text for her informing him she was out to lunch with a friend and would be home in a few hours. It gave him a little while to sober up and he decided to spend it walking around town, hoping the fresh air and maybe a cup of coffee would help instil some life back into him.

He sent her a quick text informing her he was going out, and slipped on his jacket, scarf, and thick winter boots, slipping his phone into the pocket of his coat. The nearest Starbucks was a 20 minute walk and although Harry still wasn’t completely familiar with the city and was most definitely not an expert in getting around, he at least knew how to get there, and he had time to kill, so he didn’t particularly care if he got lost. He wasn’t a big fan of coffee, he found it bitter and much preferred the sweetness and gentle flavour of tea, but at that moment, he needed a pick-me up, and there wasn’t nearly enough caffeine in soda or tea to do the trick.

As he set out on his walk, his head still pounding but a bit less so from the cool, pleasant wind blowing in his face, Harry pulled out his phone and checked for any new texts. He was disappointed to see there were none from Louis, only a reply from his mum telling him to be careful. Although he was extremely hungover and still a bit disoriented, he remembered the events of the previous night with impressive clarity. He remembered Louis’ face when he and that guy, whose name was the only thing that was still a bit fuzzy to him (Was it Neil? Rick? Dirk?), and smiled smugly at the memory. 

There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that Louis had been jealous, but he was still extremely confused as to why. There were moments, extremely fleeting ones, which made it seem Louis may be attracted to him as well, but Louis had also been the one who came up with the idea of Harry getting laid in the first place. It made no sense that he be the one to suggest it and then end up becoming jealous when it actually happened. It was such a Louis thing to do that Harry wondered why he was even surprised, but that didn’t make it any easier to understand. 

Maybe, Harry thought, he was just annoyed at the ease in which Harry had done it, that he had found someone almost immediately upon stepping onto the dance floor, before Louis even had a chance to find someone of his own. But that explanation still made little sense; he hadn’t appeared to even be trying to get laid, and had seemed perfectly content at the bar drinking and conversing with his friends. So what was his problem then?

Harry kicked the snow under his feet in frustration as he walked, turning a corner and accidentally sending the snow launching at an old couple’s legs as they passed him. He blushed and apologized profusely, earning a strange look from the man and woman who stared back at him as they continued to walk, not responding to his apology. 

When he reached Starbucks, he stood in line awkwardly, observing the plethora of hipsters that occupied the tables, typing away furiously at their laptops, discarding their shoes underneath the chair adjusting their obnoxious, oversized, probably unnecessary glasses. Harry pulled off his own spectacles, observing them and noticing they were uncannily similar to the one’s perched upon the nose of the shoeless hipster he’d just been staring at. He really hoped they didn’t make him look like that much of a twat.

It came to his turn finally and he mumbled his order of a coffee, staring at the server in confusion when she asked if he wanted regular, decaf, or espresso. He stammered for a moment before deciding to keep it simple and settling on regular, moving off to the side as instructed and waiting for his order with a tapping foot. It was handed to him after another minute or so and he exited the shop hastily, beginning to feel the eyes of the customers burning into the back of his skull and scrutinizing him. Harry was not only shy, but he also had occasional social anxiety, which tended to flare up when he was in heavily occupied places. 

He sighed in contentment as he stepped back onto the pavement, breathing in the cool winter air and taking a sip of the still scalding hot coffee. It burned his tongue painfully, and the taste was bitter and unpleasant and he had never been a big fan of coffee to begin with, but it gave him the jolt of energy he’d needed and he felt decidedly less exhausted. He checked his phone again; it was only 3 and there were still no new texts from Louis.

Harry spent the following two hours wandering around aimlessly, occasionally walking into random stores to make it look like he was doing something, though usually exiting with nothing in his hands and probably looking to the store owners either like a total weirdo or like he was trying to shoplift. He assumed his glasses and perpetual deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression prevented him from any real suspicion. He passed a few people he recognized from school on the pavement but avoided all eye contact, craning his head to hide in his scarf and even throwing on his hood at one point. Not that they would have said hi to him anyway.

Majority of his walk was spent thinking about Louis, which was an activity that seemed to take up a lot of Harry’s time on most days, but he usually found he was able to focus on other things in between, like his homework, or new strategies for his video games, or trying to figure out the plot of the latest mystery book he was reading. Since the previous night, it had become nearly impossible to think about anything else. Harry was desperate to figure Louis out, to discover and understand how his very weird brain worked and functioned, but it was very hard to do when Louis gave him so little to work with. Harry saw bits, pieces and flickers of Louis’s thoughts, and much less often his feelings, but they weren’t enough to give Harry any real insight.

Harry liked Louis. He liked him a lot. So much so that he was willing to pretend to hook up with a random guy just to make him jealous. That was not something the Harry of 3 months ago would have done. Louis had changed so many aspects of his personality, so many aspects of his life that it was almost immeasurable. But Harry wasn’t sure he had done the same for Louis. He had seen that flicker of jealousy, that unmistakable look of displeasure on his face, but he couldn’t be sure what it meant, because Louis was keen not to let him see it. Harry was beginning to realize that even if Louis did like him that way, he wouldn’t tell him as much. He wasn’t that sort of person. Louis was one to pretend he didn’t have emotions; Harry wasn’t sure why, but it was quite obvious that was the case.

As the possibility of him feeling the same way became more real, Harry’s curiosity about Louis intensified, and only made his desire to figure him out all the more fervent. He found himself smiling faintly as he made his way back home, and cleared his mind of most of his doubts and worries for the time being.

*

It was half 5 when Harry arrived home and he was praying his mum already had supper cooked. He hadn’t consumed anything but coffee all day and his stomach was beginning to growl obnoxiously. He shucked off his boots as he entered the door, grumbling as one of them took his sock with it. He slipped his sock back over his foot and hung his jacket on the coat rack, calling out for his mum who was nowhere in sight. He heard movement in the kitchen and began to follow the noise, pushing the door open and nearly gasping when he registered the image before him.

“Louis?” Harry sputtered. “What are you - what’s going on?”

Harry was absolutely stunned as his eyes fell upon Louis standing in the middle of his kitchen, next to his mum. There was a stack of pictures in her hand they appeared to be flipping through, jovial grins plastered on their faces and laughter in their eyes. It was a strange visual; Anne with her tidy hair, classy get-up, and fresh-faced complexion in contrast to Louis’s messy fringe, tattooed arms peaking out through his baggy band tee, and smudged, black-rimmed eyes.

He stood completely frozen as Anne and Louis looked up from the photos. “Sweetheart!” Anne lilted with a warm smile. She handed the photos to Louis and walked over to give Harry a kiss on the forehead. “I’m happy you’re back. Any later and you would’ve missed supper!”

Harry’s eyes darted between Louis, who was smirking at him broadly, and Anne, who was looking at him in confusion before a look of realization settled on her face. “Oh! Right! You’re confused,” she said with a laugh. “Louis actually came ‘round looking for you.” Louis gave him a cheeky wave. “I told him you weren’t home but he could come in and wait if he liked. So I’ve just been cooking and showing him some of your baby pictures!” She giggled as if it was a completely acceptable thing to do, rather than a mortifyingly embarrassing one as Harry considered it.

“You never told me you were in the scouts,” Louis acknowledged playfully, holding up a picture of Harry in his uniform. Harry blanched, still hung up on the fact that Louis was there and in his house. That he had waited for him for God knows how long, speaking to his mother of all people.

“Tell you what,” Anne intercepted after a short pause, “how about you two go somewhere and chat, and I’ll call you when supper’s ready? Louis can stay if he likes.”

“Brilliant!” Louis smiled broadly, walking over and leading a still shell-shocked Harry out of the kitchen. 

“That was the literally the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced,” Harry said when he finally composed himself. “How long have you been here?”

Louis chuckled. “Dunno. I got here around 5. Your mum’s cool, it wasn’t really awkward or anything. Probably more so for you, since we spent the entire time looking at pictures of you and laughing.”

“Please don’t hold them against me,” Harry groaned, slipping his boots back on. “I was a kid. Everyone is embarrassing when they’re a kid.”

“I suppose,” he replied with a shrug, pulling his jacket over his shoulders and stepping into his shoes.

“It’s funny,” Louis said as they walked out the door, pulling a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket, “your mum was just showing me all these baby photos, pictures of you in the scouts and all that, and you looked so innocent, when just last night you were getting sucked off in the bathroom of a club by a guy you didn’t even know.” He chuckled, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

Harry blushed and swallowed hoarsely, the weight of his lie catching up to him and sending a wave of anxiety through him. 

“So… was it everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more?” 

“It was, um…,” he stuttered nervously, “interesting.” He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say and he had never been comfortable with lying, but he didn’t want Louis to think he was a coward or a loser for being unable to go through with it, and the selfish part of him was itching to get a glimpse of Louis’s reaction.

“Interesting?” Louis chortled. “That’s all you can come up with?”

Harry sighed, cursing himself for not coming up with a believable story beforehand, and deciding he was just going to have to wing it. “It wasn’t really like, mind-blowing or anything.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Your first hook-up and it didn’t blow your mind? Wow, the guy must have been really rubbish.” Louis snorted, his smile distinctively smug and self-satisfied.

Harry was tempted to tell him that wasn’t exactly true, because it wasn’t and he hadn’t been completely honest with Louis, but decided then was not the time. “It wasn’t that. He was fine. He was nice and all.”

“Really? He wasn’t even fit.”

“I thought he was. Just my type, really. Tall, lean, a bit quirky. He was totally hot.”

Louis grumbled something indiscernible under his breath, his lips pulling into an irritable snarl around his cigarette. He flicked the ashes from the cherry aggressively and turned to give Harry a skeptical look, his brow furrowed in annoyance. Harry tried his hardest not to smirk.

“What’d you guys even do?” Louis asked, keeping his voice low as if to distract from sounding too eager or curious.

“He, uh… sucked me off,” he lied. “He was really eager too. He like attacked my neck. I had to cover the hickeys with my sweater.”

“Wow,” he said, clearly a bit taken aback. “Who knew you had it in you.” He cleared his throat, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke toward the ground. “So, uh… could you see yourself, you know, doing it again?” There was a quietness and hesitancy in Louis’s tone Harry had never heard before that made his stomach flutter with hope.

He considered lying again, putting on a false bravado of cockiness and self-assuredness to impress Louis and draw an even more stunned reaction from him, but he knew it wouldn’t be believable. His honesty was one of his defining characteristics.

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry said with a sigh. “I’m really not that smooth. I just got lucky last night. Besides I’m not really into that kind of thing. It was nice and all, but I’d rather do stuff like that with someone I’m going to see the next day, you know?”

Louis stared at him for a moment, his expression contemplative and questioning. “Fair enough,” he added after a pause, looking away and taking another drag.

“What can I say,” he laughed. “I’m kind of a hopeless romantic. I’d rather have a boyfriend than get sucked off in a dingy bathroom, but that isn’t going to happen either, so I guess I’m just gonna have to get used to being alone.”

Harry gave a self-deprecating smile and met Louis’ eyes, who was staring at him imploringly, his head tilted to the side slightly. “Are you sure it’s worth waiting for?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “The point of waiting is that it takes some time to figure it out, isn’t it?” Harry looked at him hopefully, then chuckled. “You probably think that’s really stupid.”

Louis shook his head slowly, his face thoughtful as he looked at Harry. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all, Harry,” he said softly. “Not at all.”

They locked eyes and a silent understanding seemed to pass between them. Harry felt a startling sense of connection in that moment, one he’d never felt before, and it caused a pleasant feeling of warmth to spread throughout his stomach and a wide smile to form across his face.

*

Harry was surprised with how at ease he felt as they sat down to eat, a sense of contentment filling him as he looked on at the people in front of him, his two favourite people in the world; the only two people he really needed. He smiled at his mother, suddenly more grateful for her and her lack of judgement than he’d ever been in his life. Most parents would balk at the sight of Louis, paint “BAD INFLUENCE” across his forehead and lecture Harry about hanging out with someone like that, simply because of the way he looked, but Anne did no such thing. She welcomed Louis into her home with open arms and a warm smile, as she did with nearly everyone she crossed paths with. She was happy as long as Harry was, and he didn’t thank her enough for that.

He turned his focus to Louis, who smiled in appreciation as Anne set a plate in front of him, giving her a nod and a polite, “Thank you,” before picking up his fork and digging into the meal of baked chicken and mashed potatoes enthusiastically. He winked at Harry, a glaze of warmth and mirth in his eyes, and Harry found himself smiling back. It was times like these, quiet moments, that reminded Harry of the fact that Louis really did care for him, in his own conservative, aloof way. And at that moment, Harry could forget about his desire to figure out the meaning and simply enjoy his company. He was there now and that was all that mattered.

“So,” Anne said cheerily as she picked up her own fork. “I’m really glad you could join us, Louis.”

Louis smiled. “Me too. This is really good,” he said approvingly.

“Thanks, love!” She smiled brightly. “You know, it’s so nice that Harry found a friend so quickly. He was a bit nervous when we moved here. He had a little bit of trouble at his other school.”

Louis looked at Harry quizzically. “You never told me people bullied you,” Louis cited disquietly. 

Harry coughed, looking up from his plate and shrugging. “It wasn’t really that bad,” he acquiesced. 

“Well,” Anne chimed in. “People gave him a bit of trouble about his… sexuality and what-not. Calling him names in the hallway and all that. Harry didn’t let it get to him, though. He always was a scrappy boy,” she added with a fond smile.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that. There’s a real fighting spirit behind those doe eyes and silly curls,” Louis said teasingly.

Harry laughed, feeling far too complacent to take any offence to Louis’s cordial jibe. “Hey, I am right here, you know?”

“On his first day here,” she explained, “he didn’t think he’d make any friends at all.”

“Everybody first thinks that when they move,” Harry said around a mouthful of potato. “And people used to tease me… for having no friends. And my hair. And my glasses. It was never that bad, though. They never beat me up or anything. Not even when I came out.”

“How did you come out?” Louis asked curiously. “To your school, I mean?”

“It’s actually a really lovely story, Louis. Would you like to tell him, Harry?”

“No,” Harry mumbled self-consciously. “It’s really not that interesting, you don’t want to hear it.”

“I do, actually,” Louis confirmed. “Go on, tell it.”

Harry bit his lip and looked at Louis beseechingly. Louis nodded at him, smiling as if to confirm his interest. Harry cleared his throat and paused for a moment. “All right. Um, well… it was during school. I was just sitting in the lunch room, by myself, listening to music and all that. These guys came up behind me and yanked the headphones out of my ears and called me a poof. One of them… mussed up my hair and everything. Nobody really laughed or said anything, they didn’t stick up for me either but… I wasn’t the only one that happened to.”

He sighed and scratched his nose with his finger before using it to adjust his glasses. “Anyways, for some reason, it annoyed me more than it usually did that day. Normally I just rolled my eyes and ignored it, but it must have been the mood I was in, because I got a bit angry. I was quite a shy kid, I didn’t really speak my mind or anything, but it was different when I was angry. I get a bit bold. Mum can attest to that,” he gestured toward Anne, who smiled and nodded. Harry lowered his eyes to his half-eaten dinner before continuing.

“So, yeah, I… I don’t really know what came over me, but I stood up. Like on the table and everything, actually stood on TOP of the table I was sitting at, and everyone was staring at me like I’d gone mad and everything just went quiet. My heart was beating so fast and I thought I was going to pass out, but I didn’t. I said…” He chuckled a bit at the memory. He recalled every single word he said that day, and fervor filled his voice as he bellowed toward the table, reciting them passionately, “If you want to call me queer go ahead, because I am! I’m gay and there’s nothing you can say that will make me want to change that! There’s nothing wrong with it and if you think there is then you’re just a bloody tosser!” He laughed joyously.

He looked up to see Anne near tears across from him, her hands pressed over her heart as she beamed at him proudly. He smiled in her direction then looked over at Louis, who had stopped eating and was watching Harry intently, a smile of his own lighting up his face. Harry observed Louis as they made eye contact; there was something different about the curve of his mouth, the sparkle in his eyes lacking the mischief Harry was so accustomed to seeing, instead projecting something distinctly different, something Harry couldn’t put his finger on. His smile was soft, small, barely even pulling at the corner of his lips, and it brought a beauty to his features that both took Harry’s breath away and filled his chest with want. He wanted to see that look again. That look he got when Harry thinks he may have surprised him.

With that conversation Harry realized there were a lot of things he still hadn’t told Louis. Important things that he wanted to share with him, to make them feel closer. Harry liked to think they were close already, but Louis had yet to tell Harry much about himself, and Harry wanted to learn things about him, but he couldn’t do that if he didn’t tell him things about himself first. He wanted to know Louis inside out, know his thoughts and feelings and why he thinks and feels the way he does. Harry wanted everything, and he knew Louis wouldn’t give it to him on his own, Harry had to work for it.

*

“Lou?” Harry said following a minute of silence, after they had ascended the stairs and entered his room. “Can I - can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“It’s sort of… personal. And I haven’t really told anyone else before.”

“You told me you were gay the first time we met, Harry,” Louis joked and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Louis could still remember their first meeting. “And we just talked about you coming out at the table.”

“Not that,” he laughed, punching Louis’s shoulder. “Can we sit down?” He motioned to his bed and Louis stared at him warily before nodding slowly and hesitantly sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Harry fell beside him on the bed, preparing himself for what he was about to tell Louis. It was something he seldom thought about, something he used to think about all the time, that plagued his mind and left him restless and unable to sleep at night. 

He exhaled a deep sigh, thinking about how he was going to explain it before forming the words with his lips. “So you know how I said that guy last night was the first person I ever hooked up with, right?” Louis nodded. “Well, um… it actually wasn’t.”

Louis’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his fringe, his jaw all but dropping to the floor in surprise. Harry chuckled softly at this reaction. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I know. It’s pretty hard to believe,” Harry countered quietly.

“How come you never told me?”

Harry sighed. “It’s a really, really long story. Plus, it’s not really something I like to think about.”

Louis’s previously hidden eyebrows reappeared and furrowed in an expression that seemed to convey confusion, and even vague concern. 

“It wasn’t really a good experience for me,” he elaborated. “At all. It was probably a mistake, but I can’t really bring myself to regret it, because it taught me a lot of things. About myself and about people.”

While he remained silent, Louis’s eyes seemed to convey a desire for Harry to continue, and Harry inhaled another deep breath, closing his eyes and letting the air escape through his mouth slowly. He searched for the words in his mind, angling his body toward Louis and resting his chin on his raised knee.

“I was 15. I had kissed a few girls and had already discovered masturbation, as you know, so I had a pretty good idea I was gay. Every year since I was 12 I went to summer camp. It was an all boys camp and it was always really fun. We played sports, like football and all that, played games and stuff. They taught us how to climb trees and rocks, we learned to swim. It was great.” Harry paused to allow Louis to take in the information, noticing he seemed to be listening to him with an uncharacteristic amount of interest.

Harry lifted his chin off of his knee, looking away from Louis and fiddling with the material of his blanket as he sectioned into the harder part of the story, the part that really mattered. The part he seldom allowed himself to think about. “There was this bloke. One of the counsellors. His name was Will. God, he was really fit,” Harry said with a distant laugh. “He had this like, flippy blonde hair…” He explained, gesturing around his head. “And he was tanned and he had the nicest smile. His arms were like, perfect. I had a few dreams about his biceps, if I’m being honest.”

Louis looked away then, his face muscles seeming to tense and his fingers moving, almost instinctively, to feel his own bicep. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, lifting his head to look at Harry again, his jaw still somewhat tense. Harry looked down again to hide his smile.

“He was really nice to me. I didn’t really fit in, you know. I never really have anywhere and that camp was no different. So he kind of looked out for me. He even told the head of the camp that I wanted my own cabin and convinced her to do it. I couldn’t have been more crazy about him.” Harry’s smile faded and his features took on a more melancholy expression. “He knew. How could he not have known? I’m not exactly the most subtle person when I like someone.” Harry chanced a look at Louis, hoping he understood the connection he was attempting to make, but there was no noticeable change in his facial expression, so Harry continued.

“Anyways, I - he started to come ‘round my cabin a lot at night. When we were done all the stuff for that day. He would bring over his laptop, and we’d watch videos on the internet and just laugh. He showed me the music he liked and talked about what it was like to be nearly graduated college. I really, really liked him. It felt like I finally had a proper friend. Of course I wanted more than that but I wasn’t sure he did. And I was too shy to do anything about it. I wasn’t sure he even liked me back. I was like… this fucking awkward 15-year-old kid, and he was this really hot guy with a lot of friends and a social life. I couldn’t imagine what he’d want with someone like me.” He scoffed bitterly. “That is, until he kissed me.”

Louis’s fist clenched as if he hadn’t expected the story to have been going in that direction, even though he knew full well it would. Harry tried to not over think it. “It wasn’t just a kiss either. It was like, full-on sloppy make-out. He put his hands up my shirt and everything. I couldn’t believe it. I was ecstatic.” Harry couldn’t help but grin at the memory, the memory of the absolute joy he felt at that moment, the joy that he was finally kissing a guy, a guy he truly liked and wanted to kiss. It had been complete bliss and Harry was temporarily distracted by the nostalgia of his reminiscence, until the reality of the entire situation settled back in, and he suddenly wasn’t smiling anymore.

“It went further pretty quickly,” Harry continued. “After about 2 days he was giving me hickeys and jerking me off on my bed. It was a bit… thrilling, really. Because he had to sneak round to my cabin really late at night so we wouldn’t get caught. It was pretty crazy. We still hung out during camp and stuff, and it felt like I had a boyfriend. That’s what it felt like to me, at least. I thought I was in love with him. ‘Cause I was 15 and stupid and living in some dumb fantasy world.”

Harry was so caught up in the story and his memories that he barely registered Louis’ increasing discomfort, the way he would stare hard at Harry, whose eyes remained focused on his hands as if he was in some sort of trance, then look at the wall, his gaze heavy and troubled.

“He, uh, blew me after about a week,” Harry said awkwardly, unaware of the appropriate terminology to use. “I barely even knew what was happening, where to put my hands or whether to touch him or not. But it felt good. It felt really, really good. I was so happy.” A sad smile formed on his lips. “Until I wasn’t.”

He looked back at Louis then, who tore his eyes off the wall and stared at Harry flatly. Their eyes met for a moment, and Harry detected a request to continue in their depths.

“We were kissing this one night. A bit harder than usual. Then he started to take my pants off. He told me he wanted to fuck me.” The words came out with surprising ease; Harry was usually uncomfortable talking about sex, but he had become lost in his own words, his memories, the feeling of hot fingers and moist lips pressing against him so familiar he swore he could still feel them. They left burns on his skin this time, rather than visible marks.

“I got scared. I didn’t want to annoy him but at the same time… I wasn’t ready for it, and I knew I wasn’t. It was too soon for me. Sex seemed like such a big deal. And even though I liked him I didn’t… I didn’t want to just give it up, you know?” He sighed reflectively.

“So what’d you tell him?” Louis asked quietly, the first time he had spoken during Harry’s entire monologue. His voice was hoarse, low, barely even audible. It sounded almost timid.

“I told him no,” Harry said after a pause. “I said I wasn’t ready for it. He didn’t listen at first. He told me I was and I just had to trust him. But I still said no. I wasn’t just gonna put out, you know, just because he wanted me to. I told myself if he really liked me, he’d be okay with it. He wouldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do.” Another pause. “But he wasn’t okay with it. He got angry with me. He told me that I lead him on, which is ridiculous because that’s exactly what he was doing to me. But yeah. Then he told me I was wasting his time and that I wasn’t even worth the trouble.”

Louis’ eyes had returned to the wall, staring a hole into it as Harry ran his fingers through his curls and shook himself, attempting to shake away the hurt and disappointment he felt even after so much time had passed.

“That was it. He didn’t speak to me at all after that. I thought maybe if I… went to his cabin and told him I wanted to have sex, he might talk to me again, but I wouldn’t do that. There was no way I’d do that to myself. Even though it hurt, I knew he never really cared about me. And I wasn’t going to be used. That was the last thing I wanted, no matter how much I wanted Will.” The atmosphere in the room had become quite glum and serious, while Louis still didn’t speak.

“So, yeah,” Harry said with a forced chuckle. “That’s the story of my absolutely horrible experience with sex, and why I’ve chosen to remain celibate. Until now, of course.” Harry was attempting to lighten the mood, but Louis remained unmoving. His hands were limp at his sides, his palms facing upwards, and although he was facing away from him, Harry could detect the presence of a frown on his face. The silence lingered and Louis continued to stare into space, as if he’d just been told his girlfriend was pregnant and he had no idea to react. He probably didn’t know what to say; sympathy was not Louis’ forte and that was definitely the response Harry’s admission called for.

Harry found his eyes wandering around the room, his mouth searching for something to say. When his eyes met the bed, their attention was caught by an unfamiliar marking on Louis’ wrist. Harry leaned in closer, Louis completely oblivious to his movement. It appeared to be a new tattoo.

“What’s that on your wrist?” Harry inquired, shifting closer to Louis on the bed. “Is that a new tattoo?”

“Hmm?” Louis sounded distant, confused, as if he had floated somewhere far away. When he registered what Harry said, he looked down at his wrist and nodded in recognition. “Oh. Yeah. I just got it the other week.”

Harry inspected it closely. It was five letters drawn neatly next to each other in cursive, black font. The letters were J, C, F, D, and P. Harry stared at them curiously, intrigued, before reaching out and brushing his fingers against them, “Does it stand for something?”

Louis looked up at him, the emotions in his eyes carefully guarded by his stony expression. “Tattoos don’t always have to have a meaning, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re telling me you just randomly got 5 letters permanently drawn on your skin for no reason?”

Louis stared at him for another few moments, before averting his eyes back to his wrist. He was silent for a while, stroking the inked letters gently, as if contemplating something. Harry watched him carefully, willing him to respond but making no moves and forming no words to pressure him. He sat patiently, his fingers aching to reach out and touch him, but he resisted the urge, keeping his palms pressed firmly against his mattress.

When Louis finally spoke, he kept his voice quiet and his eyes trained on his wrist. “They’re initials.” He pointed to each letter as he indicated them, “J for Johannah, my mum. C, F, D, and P for my sisters. Charlotte, Felicite, Daisy, and Phoebe.” He paused for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as his eyes trailed toward the ceiling, still not looking at Harry. He sighed heavily. “I just wanted…” He grunted, appearing to fight a silent war in his mind as his eyebrow furrowed and he continued to look anywhere but at Harry. “I wanted to show them that I care. Even if I’m not the best at… expressing it, in words, they’re still, on my mind.”

Harry’s eyes remained locked on Louis the entire time, his heart melting at the unexpected, wholly unfamiliar sincerity and vulnerability Louis was displaying. He felt a sudden, overwhelming affection for Louis take over his body, and he felt himself leaning over without a second thought and pecking Louis on the cheek. Louis’ head snapped upwards.

“What’d you do that for?”

Harry flushed, dropping his head and bunching the blanket between his fingers. He had never felt so self-conscious in his life. “Uh,” he mumbled. “I don’t know. I felt like it.”

He daringly met Louis’ gaze, and he was staring back at him, his brow crinkled in confusion. There was a long, awkward pause during which they were simply looking at each other, although it felt to Harry that he was the one looking at Louis, while Louis just stared through him.

Louis shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat and moving to stand up. “Um, I’ve got to go.” He pushed himself off the bed and stood over Harry, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ve uh, said I’ll meet the lads at Zayn’s in a bit, so… yeah. I’ve gotta go.”

Harry had a feeling that was a lie.

“I’ll see you around, I guess,” he muttered, turning to exit his bedroom without as much as a backwards glance.

For some reason, Harry sensed a sort of finality in Louis’s words, and it made him want to tear all his hair out and scream at the wall because he felt so fucking stupid.


	9. Chapter 9

The following few weeks past in nothing but a blur for Harry. School had started up again, his Macbeth paper was due and final exams were approaching at lightening speed. Harry had never been one to fret regarding exams, as he was always well-prepared, but that was the case back when he hadn’t a friend to his name and spent the time he wasn’t on his computer or playing his Xbox, keeping up to date on his homework. It had been plenty easy to do, that was until Louis came into his life and started getting him high and inviting him to clubs and parties and manipulating him into breaking into people’s houses. Schoolwork had been pushed to the backburner since he’d met him.

It was hard to pay attention to anything other than the stress and pressure of his impending exams, but it was also hard not to notice the way Louis seemed to be consciously distancing himself from Harry. Louis was aloof by nature and he’d never been exactly open with him, but he’d always been willing to hang out. Even if he’d had other things to do that day.

The thing was, Louis still spoke to him in class, when he showed up that is. He mocked Mrs. Whinshaw behind her back and distracted him by reaching over and sticking his earbuds in his ears, blasting Sex Pistols during silent work periods. But when class was over, and Harry would ask what Louis was up to after school, he’d freeze suddenly, muttering indifferently that he already had plans and leaving with nothing other than a short smile and a curt wave. He didn’t respond to Harry’s texts, nor did he send him any texts of his own. Harry had been hurt at first, but that hurt had quickly dissipated, replaced by anger and annoyance and the typical frustration that often followed Louis’s mercurial behaviour. Harry was beginning to think ‘Frustrating’ was Louis’s middle name.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He was a bit naïve, maybe a bit too idealistic, and he wasn’t exactly street-smart, but his years of isolation from his peers and social interaction had taught him quite a bit about people. He watched people; he didn’t speak to them, and because of it, he was able to observe them. He saw people for who they really were, not the image they projected externally. He thought it perhaps made him a bit weird, a bit of a freak, but most around him that that of him anyway, so he supposed it didn’t really matter. 

He had been far too distracted by Louis, far too overwhelmed with the intensity of his infatuation to put his intuition to good use. Louis’s presence seemed to send him into a frenzied trance every time they interacted, Harry being unable to focus on much other than the curve of his biceps, the delicate cut of his cheekbones, the way his lips moved when he spoke and glistened when he licked them in between sentences. He had been in too deep, and now all Harry wanted to do was think, think about why Louis acted the way he did, why he treated Harry the way he did, and what exactly his intentions were.

Unfortunately, he was up to his arse in course work, studying, and panicking over his lack of preparation for exams that he had little time to think of anything else, let alone dwell over the muddled, confusing thoughts of Louis Tomlinson. Harry was grateful for the distance, really, as he had grown far too dependent on him and that was the last thing he wanted. He needed a break from him.

He just wished he was certain Louis would continue to talk to him after Harry deemed the break long enough.

*

During times like this, when Harry felt lost or confused or down, he would always talk to Gemma. She was cool in ways that he wasn’t; she had a lot of friends, a thriving social life, and a way with words and people that Harry lacked. Even though she and Harry were quite opposite, Harry shy and withdrawn, Gemma vivacious and sociable, they always had a distinct understanding of each other. She went to Harry when she was having issues with one of her boyfriends, or when she was fighting with one of her friends, while she was the first person Harry came out to. She had accepted him with a warm smile and a tight embrace, kissing his forehead and stroking his curls with whispered words of comfort and sympathy.

Harry had always missed her, since she went away to university and he and his mum moved, but the space in his life she had previously filled had been growing emptier since he fell out with Louis, if that was even the accurate term to describe what had happened. He missed her soft, friendly smile, one always so free of judgment, and the way her long brown hair would tickle his cheek when she hugged him, but most of all, he missed wisdom and eloquence, the way she always knew the right thing to say even when Harry himself didn’t have a clue.

He had told her about Will, cried into her shoulder about how he felt so used and so manipulated and all he wanted was for someone to love him for him, and she had let him, let him weep for as long as he needed and only spoke when she was prompted. She had held his hand in hers, stroking it gently, telling him he was wonderful and sweet and brave and kind, and that any guy would be lucky to have him. She told him that being young was about making mistakes, and there would always be people who aren’t who they say they are, and the pain would only help him become stronger. She was the greatest sister anyone could ever ask for and if there was one thing Harry missed about Cheshire, about home, it was Gemma.

It was a quiet Thursday evening when he decided to contact her. He’d barely spoke to her since moving to London and he was beginning to grow bored of studying and trying not to think about Louis. He had been doing nothing but for 2 weeks and it was making him go a bit mad. Louis still wasn’t responding to texts and exams began on Monday and he was in desperate need of a release. His mum was always great for a pep talk, but there were certain things he just couldn’t tell her, like how he had gone to a club with Louis and nearly hooked up with a guy resulting in weird, quasi-jealous behaviour from him. He needed his sister for this.

He sent her a message on Facebook telling her to go on Skype, and she had responded immediately. He fixed his hair out of habit before turning on his webcam and settling into a comfortable position in his chair. When her face appeared on his screen, her hair a bit messy and her eyes a bit tired but a bright smile plastered on her face nonetheless, Harry felt a burst of joy he hadn’t experienced in weeks, and nearly cried when he heard her voice.

“Harry!” She exclaimed excitedly. “I’m so happy you messaged me! I miss you so much!”

“I miss you too,” Harry said sincerely, taking in her mussed and fresh-faced appearance, with not a single trace of make-up on her face and thinking he’d never seen such a beautiful sight.

“How come you never call me?” She pouted. “I feel like we haven’t talked in ages!”

“Oh, I just like, know you’re busy a lot because of uni and that. I figure you must have a lot of work to do and I don’t want to be a bother.”

She scoffed impatiently. “Don’t be stupid, Harry, you’re never a bother. Not to me. I always want to hear from you! Every day, even! So, anyway, how’s mum?”

“She’s great, actually,” he explained. “She has a pretty good job at this office near where we live, so she always picks me up after school and that. She goes out with her friends on Friday nights. I’m really happy for her. So how’ve you been, then?”

“Oh, I’m all right,” she sighed. “Finals are next week so things have been a bit crazy.”

“Yeah, mine are next week as well.”

“Of course! But yeah, I’ve made some pretty good friends and my roommate is pretty great. She’s doing the same major as me so we’ve got plenty in common. And, uh, yeah.” She laughed. “That’s about it, really. The people are great, the school is great, I’ve been going to parties and stuff, living it up, you know?”

“That’s great, Gem. Really. I’m happy for you.”

“Well, what about you? Come on, tell me about your crazy life!” She encouraged cheekily. “You been partying it up now that you’re all in the way in big bad London?”

Harry smiled a bit and blushed, staring down at his keyboard. “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “A bit, actually.”

Gemma’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening dramatically. “I was only joking!” She gasped. “My baby brother, sweet, innocent Harry, has been partying?”

“Like I said,” he rolled his eyes, “only a bit. I’ve actually… got something I want to talk to you about.”

“Go on then, spill! I want to hear all about your new crazy, rebellious, adventurous life! Has Harry Styles finally found his niche?” She teased good-naturedly.

“Oh, piss off. No. I just… I have this friend, see? And, well, he’s not exactly the type of person you’d expect someone like me to get on with.” Gemma nodded and lifted her eyebrows in a gesture for him to continue. Harry sighed, shaking himself as he typically did when attempting to collect his thoughts. “His name’s Louis. He’s a bit older, he’s 18, but he’s in my year because he got held back then dropped out. Now he’s back. But he never really shows up to class anyway.”

“I see,” Gemma said slowly. “So he’s a bad boy, then? How’d you end up becoming friends with him?”

“Yeah, he is a bit. He’s got tattoos and he wears eyeliner and band t-shirts and listens to punk music and he doesn’t like school and he smokes and he’s totally not somebody I’d ever associate with, but he volunteered to show me around on my first day. For some reason, I don’t know. And I don’t know, we just kind of… became mates. It just sort of happened.”

She sat there processing the information for a moment, nodding her head slightly and tapping her chin in a way that was reminiscent of what Louis always did when he was thinking. It made Harry’s chest ache. She looked up at him after a minute, and with the way her eyebrows drawn to the centre of her forehead and her mouth twisted in a teasing smirk, it appeared as though she was reading is mind. “You fancy him, don’t you?” She deadpanned. Harry’s cheeks turned bright red and he immediately averted his gaze, closing his eyes and hearing Gemma’s teasing laugh. “You do, don’t you? You totally fancy him!”

There was no use lying to her; she knew him too well and always saw right through him, and Harry assumed the way he had initiated the conversation in the first place was enough evidence in and of itself to justify her suspicion. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”

“I knew it! You think you can hide things from me but I always know!” She gloated delightedly, clapping her hands together. “So is he fit?”

“Yes,” Harry practically moaned. “He’s like, fucking perfect, Gem. I mean I’m not usually attracted to like, tattoos and piercings and stuff like he has, but I don’t know, there’s just something about him. He’s so gorgeous. He could be a fucking model, I swear.”

“So is this like a lust thing? Or do you actually fancy him?”

“I like him a lot, Gem. I like him so much. He’s so funny and spontaneous and just… I just have fun with him. I feel like I can do things with him I can’t do with anyone else. I want to be around him all the time.”

“What have you two done together, then? Just out of curiosity, you know,” she clarified.

“Well, uh, when we first started hanging out…,” Harry started hesitantly. “We, um… we would smoke weed under the bleachers at school.”

Gemma choked on the water she was drinking, nearly spitting it all over her laptop before she covered her mouth. “You’re a pothead now?!” She blurted, water dripping down her chin. “Christ, Harry, these Skype sessions need to be a daily thing if you keep doing complete 180s like this. Bloody hell.”

“Are you mad?” He mumbled cautiously.

“I’m not mad! I’m just surprised! You didn’t really give me any warning!”

“Well, I told you I’ve been ‘partying’,” he said the words with air quotes, “so it was kind of implied.”

“No matter,” she interrupted. “It’s fine. I smoked weed when I was your age too. I just… didn’t really expect it of you, but I guess I never expected you to be friends with a pierced, tattooed punk either, so what do I know? Anyway, go on.”

“Um, well, he took me to his friend’s party once. And I got really drunk. Then he took me out clubbing with him and his friends…”

“Harry! How’d you even get in?”

“They’re regulars, there, they didn’t even ask about me. I dressed up like them, in eyeliner and tight clothes and stuff to blend in.”

Gemma appeared to try to hold back a giggle but failed, erupting into a fit of laughter. “God, Harry,” she breathed. “This is a lot to take in. You’ve really changed, yeah? I mean, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I’m glad you made a friend, even if he, you know, sort of a bad influence. Does mum know all this?”

“Well, she’s met him. He was over for dinner a few weeks ago. She doesn’t know about the weed, or the parties or anything, but she knows him. You know mum, she’s a free-spirit. She didn’t really care how he looked. She knows I fancy him and stuff so she’s been pretty supportive. She says she just wants me to be happy.”

“And are you happy?” She said more seriously, her laughter seized.

“I don’t know,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “He’s just… he’s so fucking confusing.”

“How so? Do you think he likes you? Like that, I mean.”

“That’s why he’s confusing! I don’t know. Sometimes I think he does because he acts kind of weird when I talk to other guys and gets like, really close to me sometimes, but. I don’t know. He never tells me anything. I don’t really know much about him at all. We’ve been friends for like, 4 months now and I still don’t know anything about him. I tell him stuff about me all the time. But all I really know about him is that he has 4 sisters and he hates his mum’s boyfriends and he really likes music and pissing people off but …he’s really, like, guarded, you know?”

“You need to be careful around people like that Harry,” she said sternly. “They can hurt you at any time if you don’t know what they’re thinking.”

“I know. And I don’t know what he’s thinking. At all. Like sometimes he leads me on and sometimes he’s really distant and it just fucks with my head. And now… well. We’re not really speaking at the moment. We are, like at school and stuff, but he never wants to hang out with me anymore. He always makes excuses about being busy and all that.”

“Did something happen?”

Harry winced at the memory; at the utter vulnerability he displayed before Louis, at Louis’ quiet explanation of his newest tattoo, at the soft brush of his lips against Louis’ cheek that sent him bolting from his bed and fleeing the room. “Sort of. I, um. I told him about Will. And then I may have… kissed him. On the cheek.”

Gemma’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs, her eyelids pulling upward along with them. “Okay,” she said warily. “And?”

“And he kind of just ran away. It got a bit awkward and he left right after. Ever since then I feel like he’s been avoiding me.”

There was a long pause during which Harry watched Gemma’s pensive, unreadable expression urgently, silently begging for her opinion.

“Do you want to know my honest opinion, Harry?”

“Yes!” He said eagerly. “Of course, please.”

“I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Harry’s heart sank.

“I know you like him, Harry,” she sighed, “but I’m not sure he has, uh, the purest intentions? It seems like he’s having you on, and I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to get hurt. I think he’s playing you.”

“Why do you think that?” Harry muttered meekly, attempting to swallow the large lump that had risen in his throat.

“I don’t know, like, maybe he just doesn’t like talking about himself but it sounds like he’s been messing you about. I’m not sure why, I don’t know the bloke, but. He doesn’t seem like a good friend if he just plays around with your feelings like that. You know, leading you on then leaving you feeling like an idiot after you kiss him. I don’t like the idea of someone doing that to you.”

Harry remained quiet, staring at his hands and picking the skin around his nails anxiously. A thousand different thoughts bombarded his mind, confusing him immensely and preventing him from being able to think straight.

“For all you know,” Gemma added, “he could be talking about you to his mates behind your back. You said you met his mates. Were they nice to you?”

“Not at first, no,” he murmured, still not looking at the computer screen. 

“But they were afterward?”

“Sort of, yeah. When we went to the club. And they said they wanted to help me get laid. Then Louis got kind of mad when he saw me… talking to this guy.” Harry wasn’t sure why didn’t want to tell Gemma he’d almost hooked up with someone, as she knew all the details regarding what happened with Will, but he wasn’t really in the mood to explain anything at that moment. “Nothing happened, but. I think Louis thought it did and he was, I don’t know, a bit off.”

“See, Harry? He’s not your friend.”

“Why does that make you think he’s not my friend of all things?”

“Harry… you may be Mr. Big Shot Partier now but you still have a lot of things to learn about people. Louis - and this is going to sound harsh, but remember, I only want what’s best for you - Louis probably brought you there as a joke, to get your hopes up and make you think you could pull, but. He probably didn’t think it would actually happen. So when some guy chatted you up he was pissed that it actually worked. That you could actually do it.”

Harry felt as if someone had shoved a knife into his gut and twisted it, twisted it all the way around until his intestines were wrapped around the blade. His chest clenched painfully and he felt the liquid, stinging sensation of tears behind his eyelids, turning his face away from Gemma in shame.

“Oh, Harry… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I really didn’t want to hurt -”

“Gem,” Harry interrupted, his voice cracking slightly, “I, um, I think I want to just go to bed now. I’m really tired.” He hated the way he sounded so broken and the pathetic way he responded to what could very likely be the truth, and he didn’t feel like talking anymore. “It was… really nice to talk to you.”

“Are you sure, Har -”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She exhaled a heavy breath. “Okay, Harry,” she said, quiet and hesitant. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replied solemnly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Gem.”

Harry closed the Skype window and shut down his computer, staring at the ground numbly before standing up and walking to his bed. He was still in his day clothes, and he hadn’t brushed his teeth or said goodnight to his mum, but Harry couldn’t even think about moving. All he wanted to do was sleep and sleep and sleep and never wake up. He rolled over onto his side, his back facing the door, and buried his face in his pillow, muffling the sobs that began to overtake his body.

*

Harry was angry. Unmistakably, unabashedly, unfamiliarly angry. The hollow sadness that filled his chest following his heart-to-heart, or more accurately, knife to gut, with Gemma had been replaced not only by persistent anger, but hurt. Initially he had been angry at himself, blaming himself for his error of judgement and for trusting Louis so blindly, for making the same mistake he did with Will. But upon further contemplation, Harry realized that the conclusion Gemma had drawn from Harry’s explanation should be taken with a grain of salt. She was an outsider; all she knew of the situation was what Harry told her, and that hadn’t even been all of that.

Deep down, and he wasn’t sure if it was just the naïve, love-sick puppy inside him talking, he knew what Gemma said wasn’t the truth. He had been in a vulnerable place at the time, and would’ve taken any word over his own, even if someone had told him Louis wanted to marry him and elope to Africa to solve world hunger together. When he actually thought about it, long and carefully, he realized there were so many things Louis did that indicated otherwise. There was the way he looked at him at dinner, when Harry told him the story of how he came out to his school, that indicated fondness. There was Louis telling him the meaning of his tattoo, a personal meaning he clearly held dear to his heart. There was his hand on his back as he led him through the crowded club, making sure he made it to the bar safely and without any hassle. Louis had showed him several times, no matter if they were unintentional or not, that he cared, and it assured Harry that his tears were for naught and Gemma had gotten the wrong impression.

However, this didn’t make him any less angry, because Louis still wasn’t texting him and had still, on many occasions, played with Harry’s feelings rather carelessly. He lead him on, then let him down, then did the same thing again and Harry was growing sick of it. He was tired of Louis’ mixed signals, his hot-and-cold treatment of Harry and irritating insincerity. He had been nothing but sincere with Louis and he couldn’t even pay Harry the same courtesy. And now, after Harry had opened his heart up to him and told him something he’d only ever told one other person, Louis left him. 

Regardless of whether Louis genuinely liked him or not, Harry knew he deserved better than to be treated that way and he wasn’t willing to simply wait around for Louis to decide what he wanted out of their friendship. He valued Louis, but he valued himself more.

Nonetheless, it didn’t make anything particularly easier, nor did it make Harry like him any less. He was still hopelessly drawn to Louis; even when he was nowhere in sight, he continued to feel the ever-present pull toward him, something he hoped would go away but was quite certain wouldn’t.

‘Let’s face it,’ he thought miserably. ‘I’m fucked either way.’

*

His mum was out of the house on Sunday, and Harry was left alone as usual, watching telly and moping and pretending not to care he wasn’t with Louis. Anne wouldn’t be back until late that night, as she was having a spa day with one of her girlfriends, and, with nothing worth watching on the telly, Harry found himself bored out of his mind. He no longer knew how he was able to spend so much time alone before the move, now that he was used to having something to do and people to hang out with.

When the silence within the house and re-runs of The In-Betweeners became too much to bear, he tore himself off the sofa and decided to do what he always did when he was alone and thinking too much; leave the house and walk around aimlessly for a few hours, pretending he had something to do, maybe stopping at Starbucks along the way. He threw on his jacket and boots, deciding against wearing his scarf, as the weather had gotten milder since the start of January; still cold, but not face-numbingly so.

He decided, upon reaching Starbucks, to order a hot chocolate instead of a coffee, not particularly in the mood for a caffeine high at that moment, and positioned himself in line behind a tall, crazy-haired, cheeky sort of bloke who was chatting up the cashier. His jovial, animated way of speaking struck Harry as uncannily familiar and he thought maybe it was someone from his school, but brushed off the thought and continued to wait patiently.

“Thanks, mate, and keep the change, yeah?” The guy said when their conversation had ended, handing the cashier the money. When he turned around, Harry nearly gasped at the sight of him; it was the guy from the club, the guy he’d made out with and nearly hooked up with a month before. 

He caught sight of Harry’s face and paused, his face becoming alight with recognition. He lifted a finger to point and opened his mouth to speak, but Harry ducked around him before he could and scurried toward the cashier. 

“Uh, can I have a, a medium hot chocolate please?” He mumbled, trying to ignore the way he felt Nick’s eyes burning into his back.

“Would you like cream on that?” The male cashier asked, smacking his gum obnoxiously. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Caramel sauce?”

“Sure.”

“Chocala -”

“Whatever!” Harry snapped. “No, just… that’s fine.”

“Well, all right then,” he muttered. “What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

He wrote his name on the cup, glaring at Harry over the rim before handing it to the wide worker. “All right. Wait for your order at the side. Next!”

Harry chanced a glance over his shoulder, groaning when he spotted the guy, whose name he suddenly remembered was Nick, watching him in amusement. He avoided his eyes and walked over to the side, hunching his shoulders and pulling his glasses from his pocket. He slipped them over his nose and shoved his hands in his coat, attempting to appear non-suspect.

“That was quite a show,” Nick quipped, walking over to stand beside Harry who groaned and shifted his body away. “You were acting like you just saw the Boogeyman. I’m really hoping it wasn’t because of me, I may be a little offended.” When Harry didn’t respond and continued to stare into space, Nick waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to twinkie!”

Harry whipped around so fast his glasses nearly flew off his face. “What did you just call me?”

“I called you a twink,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What does that even mean?”

“Doesn’t matter, I only said it to get you to talk. And now you’re talking. So tell me, twinkie, why are you avoiding me like I’m a leper on a deserted island?”

“I don’t have to talk to you. I don’t even really know you.”

“I know, but it’s sex etiquette. Or failed-attempt-at-sex etiquette; never avoid your conquests. If you happen to meet again, take the high road and be polite,” he said in a posh voice.

“Well, I’m sorry if my mates didn’t teach me that philosophy. And if you must know, this is the most unfortunate coincidence of my life.”

Nick frowned, pulling his lips into a sarcastic pout. “Ouch, mate. Am I really that awful?” He held his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“No,” Harry grumbled. “You’re just… reminding me of what a fool I made of myself. In the bathroom that time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I thought you were charming. Pissed off your head, obviously, maybe a bit desperate, but you were sweet.”

Harry searched his face for any signs of sarcasm and found nothing but candour. “Well, thanks,” he sighed. The lady at the coffee counter called their names and handed them their cups. “At least someone thinks so,” he murmured, reaching out to grab his hot chocolate and nodding a quick ‘thank you’ at the woman. 

“So I take it things didn’t work out with you and Prince Charming, then?” He asked as they stepped away from the counter and moved in-sync toward the door.

“Why do you even care?” Harry confronted him in front of the door. “Don’t you have better things to do than talk to helpless teenagers with a crush?”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”

Harry scoffed. “Well, thanks for the concern,” he pushed the door open, “but I don’t need your pity.”

“Well, if you ask me…” Nick followed him out the door, “it’s better to accept somebody else’s than to waste time drowning in your own.” Harry was struck by his words, stopping and turning around to stare up at him. “It seems like you haven’t got many people to talk to, the least I can do is lend you an ear. If you let me that is.”

“I just don’t understand why -”

“Why I care?” He laughed. “I’m older than you, I’ve got more experience. So if I can help you, why not? Look, I’m going to this music shop a couple blocks away. Why don’t you come with me, tell me about your woes, then we can go back to mine, eat ice cream and marathon Sex and the City.” Harry raised his eyebrows at him. “I was joking about the last part.”

Harry considered his offer for one long, thoughtful moment. He hadn’t vented to anyone since Gemma, and Nick was right in his assumption; he really didn’t have that many people to talk to, and Nick seemed nice enough. It didn’t have to be awkward just because of their previous encounter, and Harry was desperate to let it all out.

“All right,” he sighed. “Show me the way, then.”

*

The walk to the shop took approximately 15 minutes, Harry spending the entire duration ranting aimlessly about Louis. He sounded every bit like the confused, frustrated teen he was, and Harry imagined that would get quite annoying to someone like Nick. He looked up at him every now and again, searching for cues of irritation, but every time found him simply listening intently, nodding along and appearing to take mental notes. 

“So, basically,” Nick interjected, “you fancy this guy, you think he might fancy you, but you can’t figure it out because he keeps giving you different vibes?”

“Yeah, basically,” Harry confirmed. “I can’t figure him out. He seemed sort of jealous when I told him we hooked up, but… he’s also the one who told me I should do it. How does that even work?”

“We’re here,” Nick said, stopping in front of a store called ‘Surround Sounds’ and holding the door open for Harry. “After you, twinkie.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Enough with that twinkie crap, are you gonna help me or not?”

Nick chuckled and stepped into the shop after him, which was filled with stands upon stands of CDs and records, vinyls and cassette tapes, every music lover’s dream. Harry was momentarily taken aback by the scope of the place, which was filled with patrons, mostly young hipsters and punks and a few Goths. Harry felt immediately out of place, standing close to Nick and only half-listening to the advice he was currently articulating.

“To me he kind of sounds like a bit of a twat, really,” Nick told him, “but then again I don’t know the lad. He definitely sounds like he has no idea what he wants. Which is a huge problem, especially for you.” Harry’s eyes widened and he tuned out what Nick was saying, his gaze fixed on the sight he had just spotted a few feet away. “If I were you I’d just drop him and say fuck it, honestly, but I am a bit fickle -”

Harry cut him off mid-sentence. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Across the store, standing in front of the rock section, were Louis, Niall, Zayn and Liam. Harry flushed a deep burgundy, and Nick, noticing his obvious distress, turned in the direction Harry was facing and snorted.

“Well, what do you know?” He laughed.

Niall spotted him first, nudging Liam who was standing beside him staring at the back of a Clash CD. Liam looked up and snickered, turning around to tap Louis on the shoulder. Louis, who seemed to be having some sort of debate with Zayn over the two CDs they held in their hands, whipped his head around and looked in the direction where Liam was pointing. When his eyes finally fell on Nick and Harry, his previous cheeky smile vanished, replaced with a look that could only accurately be described as skeptical.

“That’s our cue,” Nick whispered to Harry, nudging him and motioning for him to follow to where Louis and his friends stood. Harry groaned, trudging beside Nick with his hot chocolate in his hand and a look of pure embarrassment on his face.

“Fancy seeing you lot here,” Nick said conversationally when they reached them. The walk felt like ages to Harry even though they had only travelled about 10 feet at most.

“Yeah,” Louis said through gritted teeth, plastering a smile that could only be described as irritated on his face. “Fancy that.”

The irrational part of Harry’s brain told him it was because Louis didn’t want to see Harry and was simply annoyed by his presence, but the smart part knew that wasn’t the case. Unfortunately for Harry, that part of his brain wasn’t functioning very well at the moment, and he was nearly on the verge of full-on panic mode.

After an awkward pause in which Harry stood staring at the ground and Nick merely grinned at the group mischievously, Niall cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, looking Nick up and down. “Aren’t you that guy who…” 

“Blew Harry in the bathroom of Elektronika a few weeks back?” Louis cut him off, his voice dangerously close to snarling.

Niall gaped at him bemusedly while Zayn and Liam snickered and Harry looked like he wanted to die. “Uh,” Nick replied with an uncomfortable laugh. “I guess that would be me. Right, Harry?”

Harry glared at Louis, who seemed to want to look anywhere but at him, his cheeks still bright red and burning. “Y-yeah,” he stuttered, “that - that would be. Him.”

“That’s funny,” Louis said, “because if I recall correctly, what was that you said, Harry? ‘He wasn’t that good’?”

Harry’s blush deepened, while Nick merely snorted beside him. “I save my best game for the second date,” he replied dryly. 

“Oh, this is a date is it?” Harry watched Zayn, Niall and Liam, who stood behind Louis, their expressions conveying confusion as their eyes flickered back and forth between Louis and Nick. “Don’t people normally go on a first date before they suck each other off in a restroom?”

“Louis!” Harry cried. 

“Things are getting a bit passive-aggressive in here,” Nick said, turning his gaze to Harry. “Should I leave?”

“No,” Harry seethed, throwing a murderous gaze in Louis’ directions. “I’m one step ahead of you.” He glared at Louis for a few more seconds then stormed toward the door, not waiting for Nick who trailed after him calling his name. 

Nick caught up to him as he was stomping across the pavement, his hands balled into tight fists. “Hey, mate!” He said, stepping in front of him, a bit winded and out of breath from chasing him.

“I’m sorry, Nick, but I really just want to go home right now. Thank you for being there for me and everything, but I just need to get out of here.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “That’s fine. I’m sorry about that, that was -”

“It’s fine. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll see you.”

“Wait, Harry!” He called as Harry turned to walk away.

Harry stopped and looked back at him over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Do you want my number? You know, in case you ever need someone to talk to.”

“Uh,” Harry hesitated.

“Come on. You don’t have to call or anything, just - just take it in case you need a friend. Just in case, yeah?”

Nick’s sympathy appeared genuine, and it really looked like he actually wanted to help Harry, so he sighed and accepted his offer, pulling his phone from his pocket and giving it to Nick to type in his number. When he gave it back, Harry gave him a weak smile and continued on his way, wanting nothing more than to go home to an empty house, close all the windows and doors and just scream. 

*

Harry hadn’t been home 10 minutes when he heard the doorbell ring. He wasn’t sure if he had been expecting Louis to show up or not, but the way he tore out of his room, descended the stairs two steps at a time and raced to the door indicated he had been. 

Louis let himself in without a word as soon as Harry had opened the door, stepping around him with a passive aggressive slap on the shoulder and a forced, close-lipped smile.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked shortly, following Louis into his vacant sitting room.

“What?” Louis shrugged. His voice was tight, even borderline mocking. It made Harry even more on edge. “I’m not allowed to come and see my mate?” 

“Are we mates, Louis? Really? Because it hasn’t really felt like that lately.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said indignantly. “I’ve asked you to hang out how many times in the past few weeks, and how many times have you said no?”

Louis lifted his shoulders slightly, staring at the carpet and pressing the toe of his shoe into it. “I’ve been busy,” he muttered.

“Oh yeah? Too busy to text me back?” He retorted, slumping down on the couch.

“Christ, Harry,” he scoffed. “You have the tendency to sound like a clingy girlfriend sometimes, you know that? I don’t know what you want from me. I told you; I’ve been busy. I’m not like, obligated to hang out with you. We’re friends, I’m not your boyfriend.”

“You’re really keen on pointing that out, aren’t you?” Harry fumed. “Tell me, Louis. Why do you feel the need to tell me that? When did I ever say you were my boyfriend?”

“Don’t turn this around on me!”

“You’re the reason we’re having this bloody conversation. You’re the one that started acting fucking weird.”

“How so?” Louis challenged, crossing his arms over his chest acrimoniously. 

“Well,” he huffed, raising his arms and slapping them against his thighs in exasperation, “let’s backtrack, shall we? This whole thing started, you blowing me off all the time and not texting me, when I kissed you.”

Louis’s eyes widened and he took a step back cautiously, unfolding his arms and holding them in front of him defensively. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, I’m just getting started!” Harry said dramatically. “That’s not even it.”

“Well, then, Harry,” he dragged a chair forward from the dining room, spinning it around, throwing his legs over it and draping his arms over the back, “enlighten me. Is there something you’re aware of that I’m not?”

Harry glared at him from across the room, his fists clenching at his sides and eyebrows furrowing into a thick, singular line. “It would appear so.” Pause. “You were jealous.”

Louis looked at him as if he’d told him he preferred The Godfather Part III over the first two films, his mouth falling open in a wide gape. “Jealous? What, of that wanker?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered evenly. 

“Are you mad?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “What I do know is that you didn’t seem too happy about me hooking up with him. Then you freak out and run away and avoid me after I kiss you. And then you’re a dick to the guy when you meet him for no reason. I mean, I’m not saying anything, really, but if the shoe fits…”

“No!” Louis interrupted aggressively. “You’ve got it all fucking wrong. I’m the one who told you to hook up with somebody, why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t fucking know!” He yelled. “How am I supposed to know how your stupid brain works? It’s not like you ever tell me anything you’re thinking. I always have to guess! You always know what I’m thinking, sure, because I actually fucking tell you, but with you I have to figure out it by my fucking self. So when you basically ignore me for 2 weeks then show up at my house after you’ve just seen me with another guy, who you know I hooked up with, obviously I’m probably gonna ask some questions!”

Louis didn’t respond; just sat there and scoffed and shook his head. 

“Why can’t you just admit you were jealous?” Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I just wanted to know why you were with him again. That happened like a month ago, Harry, why are we even still talking about it?”

“Because you can’t admit what we both know is the truth!”

Louis shifted away from Harry in the chair. “I was not jealous.”

“Then why did it piss you off so much? Don‘t even try to lie and tell me you weren‘t pissed because you were being a right prat in front of him today.”

“I’m not allowed to not like somebody?”

“You don’t even know the guy!”

“What, and you do?” Louis belittled irritably, his face pulled into a cross, petty expression. “He blows you in the bathroom of a club, isn’t even that good and suddenly you two are grabbing coffee and shopping for records?” He adds with a scoff. “How fucking cliché.”

“See?” Harry whined. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You’re being a dick for no reason! Or rather there is a reason but you’re too fucking stubborn to admit it.” Louis rolled his eyes. “Go on, then. What’s your problem with him, since apparently you’re such a good judge of character? Go on.” Harry folded his arms and popped his hip to the side confrontationally, riding out his anger and having no intention to back down. It felt good to let it out, to blow up at Louis, finally call him out on the shit that had been bothering him for months. To show him he wasn’t going to let him push him around then pull him back in, again and again, that Harry wasn’t the weak, needy kid he appeared to be.

For the first time since Harry had known him Louis appeared truly at a loss for words, although he tried to mask it behind his trademark glare of indifference, to no avail. He swallowed, opening his mouth and closing it a few times, nothing coming out except a few slow bursts of air. “I…” Louis stuttered after an extended silence, his eyes fixed on the carpet. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t like the way he was… touching you. He was greedy. Like he thought had some sort of claim on you or something.”

Harry almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the excuse. “The way he was touching me? Jesus Christ, Lou, you even sound jealous!”

“I just… I think you could’ve done better to be honest.”

Harry did laugh this time, pushing himself up from the couch and moving to hover above Louis. “What? Like you?”

“What are you talking about?” He sputtered as if it was the most outrageous suggestion in the world.

“Louis, be honest with me for once. Please,” Harry pleaded, attempting to control his frustration. He knew he had no chance of Louis telling the truth if he was cross with him. “Do you fancy me?”

Louis looked completely affronted. “Why are you asking me that, Harry?” He sounded defensive, a little too defensive for someone who was being supposedly honest.

Harry whirled around, his arms flailing as he let out a frustrated groan. “Because you keep sending me these mixed signals, Louis! First, you tell me you want me to hook up with someone, then I do and you’re pissy about it. How do you think that makes me feel? It’s not like you ever tell me what you’re thinking anyway. It’s like, I always have to guess. And how am I supposed to guess when you give me like… a million different signals? For fuck’s sake, I tell you things about me, personal things, things I’ve never told anyone else, because I’ve never felt close enough with anyone to tell them, and you don’t even pay me the same courtesy! I’ve known you for like, 4 months now and it feels like I don’t even know you at all.” 

He knew he was rambling, and he knew he was probably making no sense, but he was worked up now and he couldn’t stop, and the way Louis was looking at him with no expression and his lip pulled between his teeth only made him angrier.

“See?! Like now, I have no idea what you’re thinking, do you know how fucking annoying that is? It feels like I can never get anywhere with you! No matter how much time passes it’s always the same. I’m never closer to knowing the real you even though you know everything there is to know about me and you don’t even give a shit.” He turned again, fisting his hands in his hair. “I try to be real with you, because I like you, I like you so much, and I think about you all the fucking time, and it’s like you’re not even all there. I give and I give and I give, and you just -”

He barely had time to register the sound of the chair shifting backwards before Louis was in his personal space, gripping his arm and spinning him around. Harry’s breath hitched when he caught sight of Louis’s intense, unreadable expression, his cheeks immediately filling with colour. His skin burned and itched where Louis held it, and it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room, leaving Harry floating in space.

Louis spun Harry back around, kicking the chair out of his way and shoving him roughly against the wall He licked his lips, tongue passing over the shiny metal lip ring, which became moistened with saliva and seemed to glisten like a thousand diamonds. Harry gulped as his breathing grew ragged, his heart hammering against his ribcage, the sound reverberating to his ears and making his head spin. As his back hit the wall and his face pulled into a grimace, Louis sucked in a breath and surged forward, catching Harry’s upper lip between his and pressing against him. His hands gripped the fabric of Harry’s shirt, his other arm encircling his waist and pulling him impossibly closer, until their crotches were practically rubbing against each other. His nose was pressed against Harry’s, his lips insistent and impetuous on his, his brow creased in fury.

Harry’s mind was reeling, his legs turning to jelly as their mouths moved together frantically. He thanked God for Louis’s grip on his shirt as if he wasn’t touching him in some way, he’d be on the floor. He raised his own hands and rested them timidly against Louis’s waist, allowing Louis to suck at his mouth. Louis pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a moan from Harry, before pressing their lips back together with renewed force and sliding his hand up his back. His lip ring was cool against Harry’s mouth, in contrast to the heat of his lips and tongue, sending Harry into a haze of blurry sensations he’d never felt before.

He wasn’t sure where to put his hands, as he’d never been kissed like this and he was quite sure not many people could say they’d shared a first kiss this heated. But he definitely was not going to complain. Louis’s hands were now in his hair, tugging slightly as he continued to press heated kisses against his mouth as Harry shifted his arms awkwardly to wrap his arms around Louis’s waist. Harry was on fire, Louis’s touch sending jolts of electricity through his body, his skin burning and butterflies exploding in his stomach. He moaned as Louis flicked his tongue between his lips, his wandering hands now gripping tightly at Louis’s shirt. 

When they broke apart, both breathless and panting, they stared each other down. Harry’s hands raised to brush across Louis’s face, his green eyes blown wide with wonder and desire.

“Does that answer your question?”

It didn’t, and Harry wouldn’t rest until he received a proper answer but at that moment, Harry could think of a million things he’d rather be doing than talking, and kissing Louis was at the top of that list.

“No,” he murmured breathlessly. “But it’s okay. We can figure it out later.”

Louis’s mouth slowly spread into a wry grin and before Harry could smile back, Louis was reaching up to grasp his face between his hands and guide their mouths back together.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry kissed like he spoke; slow, uncertain, a bit timid, but gripping and passionate. His soft, breathy moans sent a shiver down Louis’ spine, pulsating down his back and arms and heading straight for his dick. Louis shuddered against him, pressing his lips harder against Harry’s and dropping his hands from his face to his hips. Their mouths moved together languidly and Louis slowly trailed his hands under Harry’s shirt, brushing against his sternum and eliciting a shudder from Harry, whose grip on the back of Louis’ shirt tightened.

It felt good. Very good. Harry’s lips were as disorienting and tantalizing as they looked and, despite his inexperience, the boy was quite a good kisser. He followed Louis’ lead easily, his tongue darting out carefully only when Louis’ did, and his head angling opposite of his to avoid bumping noses. He kept his arms wrapped around his neck, holding Louis in place, and Louis thought for a fleeting moment that this was one of the best kisses he’d ever experienced in his life. He figured it had more to do with Harry’s sinfully red, plump lips and metre long tongue than anything else.

Finally breaking their mouths apart, Louis trailed his lips down Harry’s jaw toward his neck, he kissed the soft skin, baring his teeth and sinking them in. Harry gasped, head lolling to the side and hands shifting upward to sink into Louis’ hair. Louis pulled back to move to the other side of his neck, catching sight of Harry’s gloriously wrecked expression; lips swollen deep red, parted expectantly, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks flushed an extraordinary shade of pink, he looked more desirable than Louis had ever seen him, and he lunged at his neck with increased vigour. He began to lift Harry’s shirt, slowly rucking it up between his fingers and raising it above his torso.

“Louis,” Harry breathed as Louis’ lips travelled to his jaw. He spoke his name like a question, and Louis kissed his mouth again to hush any troubling inquiries. “No, Lou, please,” Harry moved his hands to push him softly by the shoulders, angling his head to the side.

Louis groaned and pulled back, removing his hands from under Harry’s shirt to rest on his waist. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I just…”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Louis questioned, still slightly out of breath.

“Yes,” he clarified quickly. “Of course. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages. And God, it was good. It was really, really good.” Louis couldn’t help but smile at his earnestness. “But don’t you think we’re moving a bit fast?”

“Fast? I usually don’t wait this long to shag people. I’d say I was taking it really fucking slow.” Louis winced at the way that sounded, like he had been waiting to kiss Harry for a long time but something had been holding him back. He immediately became defensive. “I mean… I usually know I want to shag people when I first see them. It doesn’t usually take this long…” 

Louis realized, both from his inability to conjure up a convincing statement and Harry’s confused eyebrows, that he was going to have a hard time explaining this one. He himself wasn’t entirely sure why he kissed Harry. It was clear as day the kid fancied him; he’d known for ages. Harry wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to his infatuation. Louis hadn’t really wanted to encourage him; he couldn’t really take him seriously, being that the kid was only 16 and barely knew what he wanted. But there Louis was, pressing Harry against the wall and kissing him vigorously, his hands moving from his waist to his back to his face to underneath his shirt, just as eager as the boy wriggling beneath him.

Harry had become a surprisingly good friend of his and, in some strange, innocent way, he was quite attractive. Louis usually wasn’t attracted to his friends, but he didn’t often become friends with people like Harry. He also couldn’t deny he was attracted to him. Although he didn’t understand any of it and doubted he ever would, Louis liked to do what felt good, and kissing Harry felt good. He didn’t want to ruin things by actually thinking about it. He was never very good at thinking anyway.

“So,” Harry said after a long pause, “should we uh… talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“What just happened.”

Louis shrugged, lowering his eyes to Harry’s lips and leaning forward to capture them between his once more. “Do you want this?” He murmured against his mouth, hovering over Harry’s and allowing his hot breath to ghost across his face.

Harry shuddered slightly, closing his eyes delicately. “Yes,” he whimpered.

“Then let’s not complicate things, yeah? There’s always another time.” He smiled, and Harry looked at him warily, his eyes wide and frightened. “Let’s just do what feels good.”

*

When Louis had ducked out of Surround Sounds early to find Harry, mumbling some excuse to his friends about needing to babysit his sisters, they hadn’t appeared at all convinced, but Louis figured by the time they’d made it back to Zayn’s and consumed enough marijuana to fill an entire mason jar or two, they’d have forgotten the encounter entirely, and likely wouldn’t question him about it. That was the good thing about having friends who were hopeless stoners and being one yourself; it doesn’t matter how much you embarrass yourself around them. By the next hour it would all be forgotten and they’d be onto their next adventure; scouring the kitchen for crisps and chocolate and anything edible really to satisfy the next wave of munchies. 

Louis made it home from Harry’s at about half 5, and he told the lads he’d be at Zayn’s by 6. He was hoping he could get a ride from his mum; he didn’t particularly like relying on her for transport, as he was just proud like that and his mum already had enough on her plate, but it was beginning to get nippy and he was feeling a bit worn-out from snogging the lights out of Harry. The boy was timid but quite capable of keeping up with Louis’ vigour; he finally knew what Harry’s mum had been talking about when she referred to him as ‘scrappy’.

He heard his mum call his name the second he walked through the door and followed her voice into the sitting room while kicking off his shoes and discarding his coat on the stairs. He found her sitting by herself on the sofa, wearing a pair of sensible black dress pants, a colourful tube top and a pair of black heels. Although her hair was pulled up into a fancy bun and her make-up was neat and polished, her eyes looked tired and her smile was a little strained.

“Hey, love,” she said when she caught sight of him.

“Where are the girls?” He asked, looking around him as if they would appear out of thin air.

“Oh, they’re with your aunt for the night. I needed a babysitter. Seamus is taking me out to dinner, remember?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Right. Trying to buy your love with expensive wine and scallops again, is he?” He stalked into the kitchen to get some water.

“Louis,” she frowned. “Not tonight, all right? Can’t I have one night off from your scrutiny? Please?”

“I’m not scrutinizing you,” he scoffed. “I’m scrutinizing -”

“Yeah, I know, I know. But cut it out, all right? I’ve got enough on my plate as it is, I could do with a night of relaxation.”

Louis shrugged and walked out of the kitchen to make his way upstairs. 

“Wait!” She called after him. He halted. “Come talk to me for a moment? Before Seamus gets here?”

“Sorry, but I said I’d be at Zayn’s in a bit, so I gotta go -”

“You can go after I leave,” she interrupted. “Just keep me company for a bit, yeah? I want to talk to you.”

“As wonderful as that sounds, I -”

“Look, Louis, I know that tough-as-nails, ‘I don’t give a shit about anything’, ‘nothing affects me’ front you put up works with your mates but I can see right through it,” she accused, and Louis was taken aback by her assertiveness. His mouth fell open in surprise. “I am your mother after all.” Her face softened slightly, as it always did when she raised her voice, and she spoke in a more playful tone as she instructed, “Now come here.” She patted the seat next to her.

Louis sighed and walked over to the sofa, falling down next to her with a dramatic heave and looking up at her, raising his eyebrows encouragingly. “Go on, then. Talk away.”

Her head dropped against his shoulder and she linked her arm through his, letting out an exasperated sigh of her own. She closed her eyes and went quiet for a moment, her breath slow and even against Louis’ neck. “I love you, Lou, you know that, right?”

“Ugh, mum,” Louis groaned. “If all that’s going to come out of this conversation is some dribble about how you’d do anything for me and I light up your world like nobody else I’d really rather not partake. I already know all that stuff.”

“I know, I know,” she said, patting his shoulder lightly. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like I’m a bad mother and -”

“No,” Louis asserted, shaking her head off his shoulder and forcing her to meet his eyes. “Don’t think like that. Don’t go pitying yourself. I hate that. I hate it when people pity themselves, especially when there’s nothing to even pity. Listen, mum, I know it’s hard for you, it’s hard for all of us. You’re great with the girls. You may not be able to give them everything they want, but you give enough. And me, you got me to go back to school. That’s a massive achievement, bordering on miracle if I’ve ever seen one.”

She smiled, chuckling at his light-hearted jab before her face pulled into a more serious, pensive expression. “I think,” she started suddenly, “I think Lottie’s been rebelling a bit lately. Or at least trying to.”

“Yeah,” Louis laughed. “I found a fake nose ring in her room a little while ago. Looks like she’s taking after her big brother, yeah?”

Jay didn’t seem to find it as amusing as Louis did. “Lou, I… I saw her smoking a cigarette the other day. A cigarette. She’s 13!”

“Oh, well…” Louis was actually surprised. He had noticed Lottie had been changing her style lately; it was hard not to. Her eyeliner had thickened and gone from brown to black, her fair hair was alternately tainted with streaks of pink and turquoise and he’d seen her live the house in a rather tart-y, low-cut skirt the other week. Lottie had always been a mature girl, above her peers in intelligence and integrity, but she’d never been particularly rebellious. Louis had to admit he was becoming concerned. He didn’t even start smoking until he was 15, and even that was early. “She must have stolen one of mine.”

“Or maybe she got it from one of her friends,” she tried. “Lou, I don’t even know who her friends are. She doesn’t bring them ‘round and I don’t ask about them. They could be older. God, this is why I feel like a bad mother!”

“Hey, hey,” Louis protested. “What have I always told you? People make their own decisions. I had an entire half-sleeve before you even knew I wanted a tattoo. Because I made that choice on my own. And even if you’d said I couldn’t get it, I still would have got one because it’s what I wanted.”

“Yeah, well,” she smiled sadly, “you never told me you were getting these either.” She poked at his lip ring. “You always had that way about you.”

He snorted, swatting her finger away. “Yeah and it has absolutely nothing to do with you. Neither does this… phase that Lottie’s got herself in. She’s a bit young but I guess when you’ve got me as an older brother it can start at any age,” he shrugged.

“Hey. If it has nothing to do with me, it has nothing to do with you. I’m just worried about her and I don’t want her to wind up blaming me if things go wrong.” Her face fell once again and she dropped her face in her hands, pulling at her hair desperately. “13 and smoking, I just - I don’t want that for her!” She raised her eyes and looked at him pleadingly. “Would you please talk to her, Lou? Find out what’s going on?”

Louis sighed, throwing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her against his side. “I could, but what’s it going to do really? She’ll just call me a hypocrite, y’know?”

“I just feel so helpless. I want her to be able to talk to me about things but she never does. She’s either out with her friends or in her room. And I don’t know what she’s doing at either time so how am I supposed to help her?”

“You can’t fix everything, mum. You may be a mother but that doesn’t mean you’re in control of everything. But,” he digressed, “I will talk to her. I’m not making any promises it’ll work but I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Louis,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. He laughed softly and patted her on the back, squirming away when she tried to kiss him on the cheek. “And you. I know you’ve got all these ideas in your head…” She pressed her palm gently against his face, brushing her thumb across his cheekbone, “you don’t have to go through life alone, either, you know. I’ll be here for you too, if you let me.” He opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment, but unfortunately, she knew him too well and saw it coming before he could speak. “And no sassing. I mean it.”

Louis looked down at his hands, his eyes grazing over the dark tattoos that splayed down his arms and encircled his wrists. He kept his eyes trained there as he nodded, swallowing the thick lump that had risen in his throat. He’d shut his mum out, everyone out, so many times, but she was always there. Even when he least deserved it. If he was good at expressing himself, or good at having feelings at all, he would tell her he loved her every day. 

They heard the front door open suddenly and Seamus’ voice calling from the foyer.

“Jay, darling, are you ready to go?”

“Yes, dear, just give me a moment!” She replied. She turned back to Louis and gave him a small smile. “Would you like a ride then?” Louis visibly grimaced. “Oh, come on. You don’t have to say anything. And I’d really rather you didn’t,” she scolded half-heartedly. “Now let’s go. Zayn doesn’t live too far anyway, does he?”

“Might as well,” he sighed, pushing himself off the couch and walking to fetch his coat from the stairs.

*

The car ride was about as nauseating and frustrating as Louis expected it to be, with Seamus tearing apart Jay’s outfit and inquiring why she wore pants instead of a dress, so Louis simply stuck his headphones in his ears to drown out the dreaded mumblings of his most hated specimen. His mum had told him not to say anything, and at that rate, if he’d heard anymore he’d be at risk of ruining her entire evening. 

Louis exited the vehicle with a curt, murmured goodbye and quickly made it over to Zayn’s garage, pulling the door open to see Zayn and Liam setting up their instruments in the back for band practice, Niall lounging at the table in the centre lighting a bowl and watching them do all the work. Louis couldn’t help but snort at the familiar image. Niall wasn’t fond of strenuous work; all he really wanted to do was play the drums and smoke weed and talk to pretty people. They were the only things he was good at really, and Niall accepted that fact without a trace of shame.

“You’re late,” Zayn grumbled, plugging his guitar into the large amp that resided on the platform of Niall’s drum set.

“I’m not even a part of the band and you’re bitching at me for tardiness? Did your period come early or something?” Louis quipped grinningly. 

Liam laughed and set his base down against the wall of the garage. “He’s just pissed ‘cause we still haven’t picked a set list for our next gig…”

“Which is less than a week away,” Zayn clarified agitatedly. “If Liam wasn’t so busy with his girlfriend and Niall wasn’t so busy being Niall and you knew how to show up on time this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“So what you’re saying is you have absolutely nothing to do with the delay?” Louis asked.

“I’m one of the few people that actually cares about the future of this band, yeah.”

“All right, all right,” Liam interjected, “we’re wasting even more time arguing so why don’t we get to it then? Then we can finally start practicing.”

They spend the next hour and a half bouncing ideas back and forth while passing around the bong simultaneously, and coming to no real conclusions. Zayn wants to do originals, as he said he’d been getting a lot better at writing as of late, but Liam and Niall felt it was too risky for one of their first real gigs, to which Louis agreed. Zayn eventually relented and they went through every single one of Zayn’s songs on his iTunes, trying to find a song they knew how to play well. Although the band didn’t even have a name yet, which Zayn, as usual, blamed on the others, they knew what style of music they wanted to sing and the image they wanted to project: old-school, classic punk rock.

After another half hour of squabbling and disagreements, they end up settling on a two-song set of ‘Live Fast Die Young’ by Circle Jerks and ‘Anarchy in the UK’ by Sex Pistols, deciding to keep it fairly simple. Zayn laments that Sex Pistols are easy to play since it wasn’t like any of the members knew how to play their instruments anyway, and both songs gave a good idea of what they wanted their music to sound like. Niall suggested they take a break from brainstorming and hold off practice for another half hour, because to Niall every activity needed a break, even ones that involved no exertion. Zayn and Liam begrudgingly agreed, and the four of them pulled out their lighters and cigarettes for another brief pot session.

Louis had just finished a bowl when he noticed Zayn staring at him strangely, his eyebrows furrowing together in a confused expression.

“What’s that on your neck?” Zayn mumbled, leaning over and pulling aside the collar of Louis’ jacket. “Have you got a hickey?”

“Wow, Zayn, from the sound of your voice you’d swear you’ve never seen one before. Which is kind of strange considering the amount of girls you’ve supposedly fucked,” Louis replied, tossing his lighter to Niall who was motioning for it.

“But we haven’t gone out in ages, and you never get laid unless you’re at a club. Have you been going out without us?” Liam looked puzzled, and it would never not confuse Louis how Liam could look so innocent and child-like with tattoos covering his body and piercings all over his face. It would forever be a mystery.

“No. I haven’t. I didn’t get it at a club.”

“Then where…” Niall gasped. “Have you been shagging someone?” Leave it to Niall to make a simple question sound like an accusation. 

“If you have I’m gonna punch you in the balls,” Zayn deadpanned.

“Why?” Louis retorted. “What’s it to you if I am?”

“So you are then?” Liam jumped in, still appearing confused.

“What is it to you?” Louis said slowly, emphasizing each word carefully.

“You always tell us when you’re shagging someone. Why are you getting so defensive about it now?” Zayn appeared to have a sudden epiphany, the creases in his brow sinking as his mouth opened in realization. “Oh my god. It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

Niall choked on the smoke he was exhaling, nearly dropping the bong on the floor. “You’re shagging Harry?” He coughed roughly.

“Why are you taking his word over mine?” Louis protested.

“You haven’t given your word!” Zayn fired back.

“Exactly, so shut the fuck up!”

“Hang on!” Liam exclaimed suddenly. “That explains why you were being such a dick to that guy the other day. The guy that Harry hooked up with at the club! You were jealous!”

“I was not!”

Niall burst into hysterical laughter. “He wanted to be the one to pop his cherry,” he cried, clutching his sides as he doubled over in his chair. 

“I’m not shagging him! I swear, I’m actually not.”

“So the hickey’s not from him, then?” Zayn said, cocking an eyebrow.

Louis looked between his friends and sighed in defeat; he never could hide anything from the nosy bastards. “It is,” he admitted reluctantly, “but I’m not shagging him.”

“So… what? You two just randomly give each other love bites then?” Niall asked, scratching his head.

“He doesn’t look like the type who’d be into that,” Liam shrugged. 

“No. Um…” Louis hesitated for a moment. “We, uh, we may have kissed the other day,” he mumbled, sticking a cigarette in his mouth and avoiding their judgmental stares.

“You… kissed?” Zayn implored skeptically. “That’s it? You just kissed?”

“Who kissed who?” Liam inquired. 

“I kissed him,” he muttered nonchalantly, as if it was a totally normal thing for him to do. Which it wasn’t.

“Since when do you go around kissing boys?” Niall sputtered. “Especially high school boys!”

“He’s a virgin!” Louis said defensively. “Sorry if I’m not willing to just jump right into bed with a kid who’s never had more than a blowjob.” They stared at him bemusedly, a strange silence settling over the room. “What?”

“Lou…” Liam insisted cautiously. “Can I ask you something?”

He looked at him warily. “Um… sure…”

“Do you think you might actually… fancy the kid a little bit?”

Louis snorted dismissively, although there was an inexplicable feeling of vague panic rising in his chest. “Since when do I fancy people?”

“You don’t, but,” Liam paused, “you don’t usually hang around with 16-year-old geeks either.”

“Or take them out clubbing,” Zayn added.

“Or snog them without screwing them,” said Niall. 

Louis was beginning to feel uneasy under their scrutiny, but didn’t show it; Louis was eternally grateful for his ability to remain poker-faced in even the most dire of situations. “So what? Maybe I’m bored of the club scene. Maybe I want to try something new. Besides, why do you guys care so much who I screw?”

“We don’t,” Zayn clarified, “but you’re not even screwing him. You just snogged him, and you never just snog people. Especially not your mates.”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” Louis miffed. “You lot said yourself he’s not even that bad.”

“He’s not,” Niall affirmed. “We just think it’s a bit weird is all.”

“Yeah, really fucking weird,” Zayn agreed. “Look, I don’t care if you like him. I really don’t. I mean, yeah, I think it’s weird as fuck and I don’t really get what you see in a virgin, but… it’s your life, mate.”

“Ugh,” Louis groaned. “You look; just because he’s my friend and just because I think he’s fit does not mean I want to be his fucking boyfriend. He has no idea what he’s doing; if I just fucked him right away or let him suck me off it wouldn’t be good for either of us. He’s got a few things to learn first.”

“And you’re going to teach him, are you?”

“Might as well,” he sighed. “I taught him how to do everything else.”

They exchanged looks filled with obvious skepticism before returning their gazes to Louis. They shrugged in unison, but none appeared quite convinced. 

“So… what is this then?” Zayn asked slowly. “A charity project?”

Louis ignored their distrusting expressions. “Nah. I just really wanna shag him. And I wanna make sure it’s as good as possible.”

The three of them looked at one another once again and smirked, and Louis wanted to punch all of them in the face for having silent conversations without him, about him. 

“All right, Lou. Whatever you say, man.”

*

The walk home from Zayn’s took longer than usual and Louis found himself in a particularly introspective mood. The wind was cold and aggressive, whipping against Louis’ face and nearly blowing him backward several times. He found himself pondering the events of the day, which wasn’t something he often let himself do. He hadn’t been to one of their practices in ages and he wasn’t sure it was a good idea he started again.

It wasn’t that Louis particularly minded sitting in on his mates’ band practice; although they still hadn’t come up with a band name, they were getting pretty good at their instruments and Zayn’s songwriting had seriously improved since his first endeavour with it all those years ago. They could actually play their own music now and that was exciting. Louis rather liked just listening to them play and giving occasional constructive criticism; it gave him something to do in his rather copious amount of spare time. But sometimes he just couldn’t do it because it was a reminder of what he couldn’t have.

There was a time when Louis had actually been part of the group. He had been elected the singer, by default mostly; he didn’t play any instruments like the others did and if he didn’t sing there really wouldn’t be that much for him to do. The lads told him he had a great voice, perfect for their sound, and the 16-year-old Louis of yesteryear had beamingly accepted their praise with shiny teeth and crinkling eyes. That had been so long ago, before he’d even gotten his first tattoo. It felt like a lifetime to Louis; he could barely remember what he looked like at 16, let alone his thought process.

The thing was, Louis knew he was a rubbish singer. He couldn’t carry soft melodies like Niall or belt out ferocious anthems like Liam and Zayn. He was mediocre at best, middling, and if there was one thing Louis didn’t like doing, it was embarrassing himself. So he elected to back out of the position, offering it up to anybody who wanted it, citing lack of interest in the music as his reason. It was clearly a bold-faced lie; one of the only things in the world Louis truly cared about was music. It kept him grounded in moments of crisis. Sometimes, Louis thought it was the only thing keeping him sane.

It wasn’t that he was a miserable person. He enjoyed himself quite often; he liked getting high, he liked getting fucked, he liked listening to music and drowning out the utter shit that echoed across the walls around him called the world. He wouldn’t admit it to many, but he enjoyed watching his sisters grow, transform from tiny infants to vivacious children into pretty, dainty young women. It made him smile to see that even amongst the jaded, murky corruptness of everything, there could still be purity. 

Louis would not allow such knowledge to sate him. He knew the ugliness; he saw it everyday. He saw it in himself; in his own aimlessness, his ability to do nothing other than drink and smoke and fuck and sleep before waking up and doing the same thing all over again. He saw it in his mother’s eyes; the numb, empty hollowness that creased the corners of an otherwise beautiful face and transforming it into something abstract. When she smiled at him, her lips would pull upwards but her eyes remained frozen in place, tired and forlorn and searching for something they’d never see. Louis was beginning to think it was happiness.

Although he wasn’t a social person and he wasn’t one for deep conversation, Louis knew how to read people. He knew how they worked, knew their intentions from the curves of their lips to the slouch of their shoulders. 

His thoughts drifted to Harry for a moment, to his wide, guileless, expressive eyes, his unguarded sense of justice and truth. Louis supposed this was why he was so intrigued by the boy and why he could still taste him on his lips. He was one of the only people Louis had ever met who seemed to have no secrets and trusted those he held dear with blind optimism and sincerity. It was a quality Louis would typically find silly, unworldly, but Harry was a different case. Harry’s idealism was not inherited from a lack of experience. It was the opposite. 

Harry had been wronged. Numerous times. His parents were divorced, bitterly, and he’d been blatantly used and toyed with for sex by an older guy, but it appeared to change nothing. Louis couldn’t figure out how that was possible. How could someone so young be so sure of themselves and who they are that they didn’t allow the negative influences in their life to change them?

Louis liked to think he was immune to that, as he was cut from a different cloth than most people. Most would call him cynical, but he preferred the term realistic. He wasn’t going to pretend to be a good singer just to make himself happy. He wasn’t going to pretend he was good in school so he’d have a chance to get into university. And he most certainly wasn’t going to pretend there was someone, that one special person, out there for him to find. He didn’t consider himself a special person, so how could there be a special person out there for him?

His mum had found her person, or at least thought she did, but it went sour and he left and she was left to find nothing but trash.

*

School the following Monday went exactly how Louis had expected it to. He woke up late to an empty house, his mum having already left to drop the girls off and head to work. He skipped his usual shower, throwing on a baggy hoodie and a pair of jeans he’d already worn that weekend but seemed relatively clean. He downed a Red Bull and chewed on a half-eaten piece of toast left on the counter, before heading outside for his first cigarette of the day.

By the time he’d finished his third, he’d reached the school about half an hour into first period. He’d contemplated not even going at all, but he had nothing else to do and he’d already missed enough previously, so he figured why not? Exams were coming up in a few days and there was a paper due on some stupid Shakespeare play they’d been reading, which Louis didn’t do. He didn’t even remember what play it was. 

Mrs. Whinshaw rolled her eyes when she saw him but she didn’t say a word, and continued to copy the exam review onto the chalk board. She didn’t even inquire him about the paper. Louis figured she knew him too well to expect him to have any intentions of handing it in. He gave her a shit-eating grin and manoeuvred through the desks to take his seat next to Harry, who glanced up at him quickly before flushing and hunching over to continue copying from the board.

Louis smirked at his skittishness and reached over to tap him on the shoulder. He flinched at the contact, pushing his glasses back up his nose after they’d nearly fallen off. “What are you doing after school?” He whispered.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it a few times, flicking his pencil against his paper. “Um, n - nothing. Nothing. Why?” He stammered.

“Meet me under the bleachers at around 5 o‘clock”

*

The temperature was surprisingly mild for winter in England and although the grass was damp there wasn’t a trace of snow anywhere, so Louis hardly minded sitting down and waiting for Harry to show up. He’d skipped drama and smoked a few joints, his eyes closed and head rested against the cool metallic structure of the bleachers the entire time. He let his mind go blank, and he was so relaxed he barely registered the sound of Harry approaching and plopping down on the grass next to him.

Louis slowly opened his eyes and turned to look at Harry, who was drumming his fingers against the grass and smiling at him thinly. His hands were twitchy and the lines across his forehead suggested he was nervous. He waited for Louis to speak, continuing to fidget anxiously. Louis simply reached into his pocket and pulled out another joint, holding out to Harry who waved his hand dismissively.

“No, no, not today. I’ve got a lot of studying to do, you know. Exams are in a few days,” he explained.

“Yeah,” Louis digressed, “but if you don’t let yourself relax sometimes, you’ll get too stressed and you may end up choking.”

“Yeah,” Harry said after a pause. “Um, I guess you’re right, but… still. Not today.”

The air around them was tense and awkward. Harry’s hand hovered close to Louis’ on the grass, his pinkie jutting outward every few seconds, his palm inching slightly closer then inching right back. Harry wasn’t sure how to act around him anymore, that much was clear, and Louis couldn’t really blame him. They’d gone from friends to not speaking to snogging the day lights out of each other in no time at all, and it’d only been a day since it happened. However, he didn’t want Harry to come up with any ideas of his own regarding what such a change meant for them, so he lifted his hand off the grass and rested it against his own thigh.

Harry obviously noticed, as he immediately cleared his throat and spoke up. “So,” he started conversationally, “have you done much studying then?”

Louis made an amused noise, a cross between a scoff and a snort. “Think about who you’re asking and I think you’ll be able to figure out the answer to that question.” He placed the joint between his lips and lit it.

“Don’t you want to pass? Do you really want to do all your coursework all over again? I could help you study, if you’d like,” Harry volunteered enthusiastically, like a little puppy begging for his owner to throw the stick.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Louis said through a haze of smoke. “My teachers know what’ll happen if they fail me. They’ll just end up getting me again next term, and trust me, that’s the last thing they want. They’ll pass me just so they won’t have to see me again. Trust me, I guarantee it.”

Harry frowned. “Is that what you want though? Won’t it feel good to know you earned your grade instead of just having it handed to you?”

Louis shrugged indifferently, taking another long drag of the joint. “I’m not good at school. Never have been. What’s the use in pretending just to make myself feel good?”

Harry continued to frown, turning away from Louis and wrapping his arms around his knees. He looked at him once more and opened his mouth as if to say something, but appeared to stop himself before it came out, returning his gaze to the ground. “Well,” he said after another pause, “I’ve always been good at it. English and Science and all that, especially. I make sure I study as much as possible. School is one of the only things I’m good at so… you know what they say. Stick to what you know,” he said with a weak laugh.

“Does it make you happy, though?” Louis asked imploringly after a moment. “School, I mean.”

He appeared slightly taken aback, like he hadn’t been expecting the question and wasn’t prepared to give an answer. “Uh, I guess so? Yeah. I like that I’m good at something, you know. I’ve never been good at… making friends, or talking to people. Or anything like that. But I’ve always been good at school so… at least I have that.” Louis shrugged, nodding slightly and outing the finished joint in the grass. 

“Plus,” he continued, “it makes me happy to know that I can accomplish something. And that I can make my mum proud by doing well. I like it… when she smiles at me after I’ve done well on a test.” Harry lowered his head bashfully, and Louis couldn’t help but smile at his sincerity. 

“Nothing wrong with that,” he assured him.

“I’m really nervous for exams, though,” he said hastily. “I’m not usually but… like I’m usually pretty confident, that I’ll do well, you know? But I’ve been really… distracted, this semester,” he glanced at Louis out of the corner of his eye and Louis chuckled, getting the implication that he was the reason for such distraction, “and I’m not even sure I’m ready, to be honest. Like, I’ve studied so much in the past few weeks and I’m usually really excited to do exams. I know, you probably think that sounds really dorky, but like… I just always knew I’d do good. But now I’m not sure. I can’t seem to focus anymore.”

Louis smirked at him, turning his body so he was staring at Harry’s temple. “Well, how about I give you something that’ll help you go on inspired?”

Harry’s head snapped toward him. “What do you mean?” He said nervously.

His smirk spreading into a full-face grin, Louis closed the distance between their faces, using the force of his lips against Harry’s and steadying hands on his shoulders to push him back against the grass. Harry made a soft noise of surprise as Louis crawled between his legs, hooking an arm underneath his thigh and pressing the other against Harry’s shoulder. When he pulled away and began nipping at Harry’s neck, Harry writhed beneath him, cupping a hand around the back of Louis’ neck and tilting his head to the side.

“Louis,” he gasped, his voice shaky and uneven, “we’re at school! We’re in public!” Although his tone was protesting he made no moves to push Louis away, practically melting and becoming pliant under Louis’ touch.

“I know,” Louis whispered lowly, moving up to kiss Harry’s mouth again. “That’s what makes it hot.” Harry sucked in a breath, moaning when Louis began pressing kisses to his jaw before moving to his neck and collarbones. Louis could feel Harry’s erection against his jeans and he smiled against his skin, amused at how easily he could turn him on.

“What if people walk by?” He breathed, clutching at Louis tighter.

“There’s nobody around.” He swiped a line up Harry’s neck and jaw with his tongue, his mouth finding Harry’s again and pressing against it slowly. “Everyone’s gone home now,” he murmured against his lips. He continued to kiss Harry slowly while his hand reached down to palm Harry’s erection inside his jeans.

“Louis!” Harry wrenched his mouth away, grabbing at his wandering hand. “This is not the pl -” Louis silenced him with another kiss. 

“Stop worrying so much. Look around,” he gestured to the area around him, “there’s nobody here. Nobody can see us under here anyway.”

Harry still looked nervous and wary, but his eyes remained glassy, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted, bitten and bright red. Louis had seen want many times and he detected obscene amounts of it in Harry’s eyes. 

“Listen to what I said yesterday,” he whispered, his mouth hovering over Harry’s. He ghosted them across his lips, his fingers slowly undoing the button and zipper of Harry’s jeans as he spoke quietly, “just do what feels good.”

Before Harry could protest again, Louis kissed him slowly, reaching his hand into Harry’s boxers and stroking his hard cock. Harry shuddered against him, his hands dropping beside his head and his hips bucking upward. Louis continued to kiss and stroke him for a few moments before wrapping his hand around the length, detaching his lips from Harry’s to allow him to breathe and pressing them against his jaw. 

Harry’s breath continued to hitch as Louis moved his hand up and down, back and forth with expert delicateness, and Harry gripped fistfuls of grass between his fingers, biting down on his lip painfully. Louis watched him, watched the flush of his cheeks deepen, the way he released his lip from his teeth and swiped his tongue across the red fullness, his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing ragged. Louis quickened his pace, speeding up his motions and chuckling as he watched Harry become utterly undone. 

His hands were flailing against the ground, the only noises coming from him low, husky moans that went straight to Louis’ cock. Louis kept up his pace as he pressed his hand against Harry’s forehead to pin him to the ground, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before flicking his tongue into his mouth. Harry fisted his hands in Louis’ hair, pulling him hard against him until Louis pulled his mouth away and Harry’s forehead was met with the top of Louis’ head. He breathed against his hair, breathed so hard Louis’ hair was flying in every direction. His breaths suddenly became short pants and he dropped his head back against the grass, his hands falling beside it once again.

“Oh, god, Louis, I -”, he gasped, “I’m gonna…”

Before he could finish his sentence, he was spilling all over Louis’ hand and his underwear, his legs kicking outward as his hips shuddered. Louis made sure to watch his face as he came, to make note of his blissfully closed eyes, his gloriously wrecked expression and wide open mouth. Louis decided he definitely liked him like this. He removed his hand from his trousers, shifting off of Harry onto the grass beside him and wiping his cum on the bleachers with a muffled laugh. Harry remained in place, his head tilted to the side, arms open above him, panting helplessly.

Louis shifted beside Harry again, resting his temple on his palm and smiling down at Harry as he attempted to catch his breath. Harry moved his head to look at Louis, his chest still heaving up and down. 

“So how was that?”

“Shit,” Harry grinned. “What the fuck is my mum gonna say when she sees the state of my drawers?”

Louis threw his head back and laughed. “Do your own laundry tonight. She’ll think you’re doing a good deed.”

“You get off on this, don’t you?”

“On what?”

“Fooling around in public.”

Louis smiled broadly. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased, pouncing on him to start round two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! Is that... smut?! Finally?! That's right, I went there. Let me know how you guys think I did; I don't have a ton of experience with smut. Feedback is great, thanks for reading as usual ^.^


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like this chapter is very different in tone from previous ones. Please let me know how you guys feel about the developments that are taking place, I really love hearing from you all. I love you! <3

Harry had always thought kissing someone (or perhaps receiving a handjob underneath the bleachers outside your school) would make it much clearer where you stood with that person, and thus make it easier to read them. But then again, Harry had always had a bit of a fantastical, simplistic mind. Although Harry supposed it had a lot more to do with the person he’d been kissing than anything else. 

It had been nearly a week since Louis had barged into Harry’s home and kissed him against the wall, even less since he’d jerked him off under the bleachers. They were preoccupied with exams the next few days, which Louis wisely decided to show up to, though he spent most of their English exam “accidentally” dropping his pen near Harry’s desk and forcing him to pick it up. Harry’s mind was a jumbled mess, from the overwhelming mass of knowledge he had crammed into his brain encompassing an entire semester to the shock, awe, joy and confusion of finally getting the attention he craved from the guy he liked.

He made it through his exams and did well enough, he was sure; he always did. And now that the stress and worry had been lifted from his shoulders, he was left alone in his thoughts. Which, as usual, concerned Louis for the most part. It wasn’t like he had much other stuff to think about. Sprawled across his bed on a Saturday afternoon, his lips curved downward in a frown, he felt a bit pathetic, but he figured he wasn’t the only person who did such things. He was a teenager after all.

They had seen each other a few times since the bleachers, mostly in the hallways at school. Louis would nod and wink at him as they passed each other, once even grazing his hip lightly with the pads of his fingers, making Harry blush sheepishly. They hadn’t properly hung out since that Monday, and, although they still texted, even more often than usual, he couldn’t help but feel the confusion creep back up on him and linger in the back of his mind.

But he remembered something Louis told him, something that stuck with him for that entire week. ‘Don’t over-think it. Let’s just do what feels good,’ and he supposed that was the philosophy in which Louis lived his life. Never over-think, just enjoy. Harry had never been like that; he was prone to over-thinking and he rarely let himself do something just for the hell of it. It suddenly struck Harry how different the two of them were; he’d always noticed it, but rarely in terms of personality. They got along strangely well for two people with completely different mindsets. Harry was beginning to think it may not be such a bad thing.

Although Harry wasn’t uptight, he didn’t understand how to simply go with the flow and take things how they come. He over-thought, he analyzed, he considered every fleeting detail of every potential situation and often became intimidated. Louis was the opposite; he did things because he wanted to, because it felt good. It was one of the things Harry loved the most about him; his free-spirit and carefree sense of humour. Harry almost envied him.

Louis had convinced Harry to do things he thought he’d never do. He’d gotten him to smoke pot, break into Louis’ mum’s boyfriend’s house, dress like a punk and go dancing at a club, nearly hook up with a random stranger in the restroom, and receive a hand job outside of his school of all places. These things were so far out of his comfort zone that Harry could barely believe he’d done them. But there was a certain exhilaration that came with looking back on these times; a certain tingling in his stomach and fingers, heated pressure beneath his cheeks, tinting them a pale pink and painting a pleasured smile across his face. Harry was having fun. For the first time in his life, he was allowing himself to have fun.

Harry liked being with Louis. He liked kissing him. Feeling the warmth of his hard body pressed against his, the possessive curl of his fingers around his wrist and his hot tongue against his neck. He liked the high yet rough lilt of Louis’ voice, the way his eyes lit up and crinkled when he smiled, really smiled, and he wanted to keep that, to hold it close to his heart and not let it disappear. 

He suddenly knew how to do that.

He had allowed himself to feel, to experience emotions and sensations and feelings he’d never felt before, and the only way to do that was to get on Louis’ level. He didn’t want to ruin things by over-thinking them anymore; he just wanted to feel. To feel Louis, to feel excitement and exhilaration and love and passion and everything he’d been lacking since Louis had come into his life. Louis brought forth a side of Harry he’d never known existed, a side he liked, a side he wanted to explore. And he was finally willing to let himself explore it.

A sudden sense of ease passed over him and cleared his mind of any remaining doubts. Harry wanted Louis and Louis wanted him. That much was clear, and, at that moment, it was enough for Harry. It was enough to make him feel something, and Harry thought maybe that’s what he was supposed to be looking for all along.

*

“Mum?” Harry said as he sat at the dining table that night, Anne placing their dinner of pork and rice in front of him. 

“Yes, dear?” She replied as she took the seat across from him, pouring herself a glass full of water.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked around a mouthful of food.

“As soon as you swallow, certainly,” she smiled sarcastically, daintily sweeping a few grains of rice onto her fork.

Harry rolled his eyes and paused, allowing himself to swallow and taking a drink of water before speaking. “What do you think of Louis?” He asked, keeping his head angled toward his plate but peaking up at her through his fringe.

Anne chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, I don’t really know him too well, do I? I’ve only met him once, since you refuse to bring him over,” she said, pointing her fork at him playfully.

“That’s true,” Harry concurred, “but don’t they say first impressions are always the best?”

“I suppose. He seemed nice enough. The two of us had a good laugh looking through your baby photos, for sure,” she giggled around the rim of her glass.

Harry spooned a bit of pork and rice into his mouth and dropped his fork, pointing his finger at her as he chewed. “Speaking of that,” he said, muffled, before swallowing, “I know you’re not some smothering, naïve, ‘oh I’m just so proud of my son he totally won’t be bothered if I show his mates embarrassing pictures, he’ll just love it!’ kind of mum,” he mocked in a twee, high-pitched, ‘motherly’ voice, “you knew that would embarrass me and that’s why you did it!” Harry wasn’t particularly mad or embarrassed about it, he was definitely exaggerating, but he knew what his mum’s plan had been, and that’s what he was indignant about.

Anne winked at him cheekily. “It was just a bit of fun, dear, don’t look so serious.”

“Yeah? What if I tell him about the time you tried to cut your own hair using a tutorial on the Internet and ended up looking like Edward Scissorhands?”

“I don’t care if you do,” she shrugged. “He’s not my mate, is he?”

Sometimes, Harry hated how laid-back his mum was. His threats were vacant and never close to disheartening. He decided to switch gears back to the original topic. “Seriously, though; do you like Louis?”

“Do you?” She replied.

“Well, you bloody know I do! But I’m asking you!” He barked impatiently.

“Hey, hey, no need to raise your voice. Look, sweetheart, I like him just fine, but it doesn’t really matter what I think, does it? As long as you like him, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, but… aren’t you supposed to warn me about bad influences? Like, ‘that Louis is bad news, I don’t want you hanging around with him?’”

Anne cocked her head to the side curiously. “Why would I think he’s a bad influence?”

Harry swallowed, realizing it would probably be a bad idea to tell her about the weed and the drinking and the clubbing and the hand job under the bleachers. “Um, well, you know… ‘cause he looks different. He’s got tattoos and piercings and wears eyeliner and all that,” he backtracked.

She raised her eyebrow at him. “You really think I’m going to judge him because of the way he looks? Because he has tattoos?”

“Most parents would,” Harry shrugged.

“Well, I’m not most parents, am I? Look, Louis can do whatever he pleases with his body. It’s no concern of mine. Or yours. He’s not a bad person or a bad influence just because of the way he chooses to express himself. The most important thing is that you get on and you like him. That’s all I care about. And honestly, I think he likes you too.”

Harry’s stomach fluttered, and he couldn’t help the blush that rose to his cheeks at his mother’s observation. “You think so?” 

“Well, of course. He doesn’t seem like a particularly emotional guy, but there was something in his smile.” There was a twinkle in Anne’s eye as she spoke and a glint to her smile that warmed Harry’s insides further. “And see?” She beamed. “Look how happy he makes you. How could I have a problem with that?”

“Well, I think you’re going to be happy when I tell you this then,” Harry said bashfully, his blush deepening and his smile growing wider. Anne raised her eyebrows in expectation as Harry lowered his head in shyness. He fiddled around with the rice on his plate, a few grains falling off the plate due to his shaky hands. “We, um… we kissed.” Harry lifted his eyes slightly to see Anne’s mouth had fallen open, her eyes soft and shining.

“Oh, Harry,” she said delightedly, “That’s just, that’s just wonderful, dear.”

“I guess it just happened,” he explained with a breathy chuckle, “we were just talking and he, he kissed me.” He decided to keep his mum in the dark about the fact that it had actually stemmed from an argument about Louis’ jealousy over Harry supposedly getting blown in the bathroom of a club while he was wasted by some guy he didn’t even know at the time. Yeah, probably best to leave that out, he thought.

“I know you don’t like to be coddled,” she said, standing up from her chair, “but sometimes I do need to be a mother.” She walked over to him with wide open arms.

“Mum…” he groaned, but nonetheless stood up and welcomed her embrace, smiling secretly into her shoulder.

She kissed his curls softly and ran her hands up and down his back, hugging him tighter. “My baby’s growing up,” she said fondly.

Harry detached himself from her grip and moved to sit back down. “Okay, let’s not get too mushy now. We haven’t even finished eating yet,” he muttered, although there was still a hint of a smile on his features.

*

The first day of second semester was rather hectic for Harry as he had to scramble around the school attempting to locate his new classes, bumping into not one, not two, but three people in his attempt to find his first period alone. The class was Biology, which Harry was excited about as Science was one of his favourite subjects.

He wasn’t too crazy about the others; math, phys ed, where he was nearly hit in the face with 5 flying basketballs, and music, where he was required to play a bloody recorder. He wished he had picked art instead; he was rubbish at drawing but at least he could have done what he wanted.

The only thing getting him through the day was the knowledge that he’d be seeing Louis after school. When the final bell rung at last and Harry made his way outside to find Louis under the bleachers, as usual, he was surprised to see Louis was actually there before him for once, rolling joints with one hand and changing the song playing on his iPhone with the other.

“Hey,” Harry said cheerily as he sat down next to him.

Louis nodded toward him in greeting, dropping the joint he’d finished rolling in his lap and picking up his phone. “Hey, mate, listen to this and tell me what you think, yeah?”

Harry leaned forward eagerly to listen, and Louis tossed him one of the joints before lighting one of his own. He passed the lighter to Harry, who made it a point not to think about what he was doing and simply lifted the paper to his lips to light it, his ears suddenly filling with the loud, harsh noise erupting from Louis’ phone.

The song was edgy, dramatic and loud, with a rippling guitar riff and obnoxious, overwhelming drumming in the background. The bass was present but barely detectable and Harry found himself somewhat taken aback by the loudness of it. He didn’t recognize the song or the band, but Louis seemed into it, nodding his head up and down and mouthing the lyrics along with the singer, who was shouting the words with a rather desperate vigour that Harry actually quite enjoyed, so he sat and smoked his joint in silence, listening intently. He waited until the song ended to ask Louis the details.

“So,” Louis prompted when the song was finished. “What did you think then?”

“Um, it was all right, I suppose. I’m not really into punk music and all that, but, yeah, it was all right. Who was it?”

“Zayn on vocals and guitar, Liam on bass and Nialler on drums,” he explained with a smile. “And Zayn would be right offended if he found out you called him ‘all right’.”

“Oh, is that their band?” He asked, suddenly more enthusiastic.

“Yeah. They’re actually unnamed at the moment because we can’t for the life of us think of a good one, but, yeah.”

“That’s brilliant! I almost forgot they were in one.”

“It’s kind of the only thing they care about, really,” he chuckled. “Other than getting high and being lazy gits, that is.” Harry nodded in response. “I think Zayn’s got the perfect voice for it. They could all get a little better in the instrument department, but Zayn’s voice is killer.”

“I don’t know if I ever told you this. I don’t think I did,” Harry said shyly, “but I can sing.” He didn’t know where the thought came from, or why he decided to share it. It just sort of slipped out.

Louis raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

“Well, I’m not sure if I’m any good, I’ve never really done it in front of anyone before except when I was small.” He smiled wistfully. “I don’t really do it much anymore, I kinda… pushed it to the back of my mind when I started high school.”

“Why?” Louis asked, looking genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Didn’t see the point of it really. I was better at school, so I focused on that.”

Louis looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Sing something,” he said.

“No!” Harry objected.

“Well, you can’t just tell me you sing and then not sing me something. That’s just poor manners. Very rude, Styles.”

“I just thought it was like, a fun fact, or whatever. I never said I’d demonstrate it.”

“Well, it should be a given. Come on, I’m not gonna laugh at you. Unless you’re shit,” he teased.

“See? This is why I don’t want to do it.” He stared at the ground and pulled at the grass, his mouth curled into a glum pout.

“Harry,” Louis said in a stern voice, “you can’t live life half-arsed. How are you gonna have any fun if you don’t take any risks?”

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic for just refusing to sing?”

“Don’t be a prat, just do it. I promise I won’t make fun of you. Even if you’re shit. I’ll just do it in my head,” he grinned.

“You’re not going to let up, are you?” 

“Nope,” he replied gleefully. 

Harry sighed. “Fine.” He searched his head for a song he knew the lyrics to; he had the habit of memorizing most songs he listened to on a regular basis, so that left him with a vast amount of options, but he ended up choosing the song he’d sang for Gemma on her birthday when he was 10, which reduced nearly everyone in the room to tears. He cleared his throat to prepare his voice, and began to sing, but Louis cut him off after he sang the first few words rather meekly and out of tune.

“Hey, what’d I say?” He commanded. “No half-arsed shit. Project your voice, man, show me what you’re made of.”

Glaring at him, Harry cleared his throat once again, more seriously this time, without breaking eye contact, and took a deep breath before abandoning his reserve, closing his eyes and going for it.

Isn’t she lovely

Isn’t she wonderful

Isn’t she precious

Less than one minute old

I never thought through love we’d be

Making one as lovely as she

But isn’t she lovely made from love

He opened his eyes to find Louis grinning at him, a playful expression on his face. He gave Harry a tongue-in-cheek clap, then a wolf-whistle and a sarcastic shout of, “Bravo!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry grumbled, tossing aside his joint and resting his chin on his knees.

“What? I was complimenting you!”

“No, you were being a shit.”

“Take it as you will,” he laughed, outing his joint on the ground and lighting a cigarette. “No, that was… good. You’re good, I’d just rather you sang something else.”

“What, like one of your angry punk songs?”

“Well, yeah. You’ve got a good voice, actually. Good rock tone.”

Harry lit up at his words, raising his chin from his knees to beam at Louis. “You really think so?”

“Sure. We just need you to get some better taste in music.”

“Are you saying Stevie Wonder isn’t good?” Harry sputtered, offended.

“He’s all right, I guess, just a bit, uh, lame, I guess? We need to expand your musical horizons. Listen, what are you doing on Friday?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat at his question. “Um, I don’t usually have plans.”

“Right,” Louis nodded. “Zayn, Liam and Niall actually have a gig at this club that night. It’s a different one from last time, but I can still get you in. They have this like, ‘all genre music night’, every once in a while and they’re playing there. Do you want to come then?”

A wide grin spread across Harry’s face, his eyes obtaining a glassy sparkle. “You want me to come with you?”

Louis scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, like I said, there’s gonna be a lot of different types of bands there, actual good bands, so we can get you listening to some actual good stuff instead of that Stevie Wonder dribble.”

Harry leaned over and kissed him, a soft, gentle one that lingered as his lips parted and he raised his hand to brush lightly against Louis’ collarbone. When he pulled away, with a relaxed, serene smile, Louis was looking at him curiously.

“What was that for?” He asked, a bit taken aback.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged, chuckling slightly. “Just felt like it.”

His face slowly broke into a grin. “You’re not just gonna leave it at that, are you?”

“What?” He inquired with a laugh.

Louis’ grin didn’t fade even as he surged forward to connect his lips once again with Harry’s, pushing him onto the grass by the shoulders.

*

The gig was only a day away, and Harry was already unable to contain his excitement. He knew that it wasn‘t a date, but Harry decided he wasn’t going to let it bother him. They weren’t dating, Louis wasn’t his boyfriend, they didn’t have to kiss all the time. He was sticking to his new resolve; just enjoy, don’t think, let things happen as they come. He and Louis were still talking every day, and in certain ways, they were closer than ever. Harry was able to joke around more in his presence; he didn’t find himself as nervous anymore and he was getting used to the lazy days spent smoking weed and talking, sharing memories and stories and jokes over joints. Although it was different, it was becoming easy, and Harry enjoyed every moment spent in Louis’ company. The undefined aspect of it didn’t particularly bother Harry, not only because he refused to allow himself to think about it, but also because there were still new things, things that Louis did to make Harry’s stomach flutter.

There were moments, when he was trying to get Harry’s attention, where he’d rest his palm on his knee, or poke him in the cheek, and others where he’d lie down and rest his legs atop Harry’s, falling back against the grass with a contented sigh. There was a certain comfortableness to their interactions that set Harry at ease, told him not to worry about the lack of physical intimacy. Maybe Louis was taking it slow, Harry thought, like he had requested, although he conceded that that was slightly strange timing considering it was only last week he was jerking Harry off in a public place. Harry tried his best to keep any doubt out of his mind, which wasn’t as hard as he thought it’d be. Simply being around Louis was enough for him.

Harry wanted to share his glee with somebody, and the first person who came to his mind was Gemma. He hadn’t spoken to her since he first told her about Louis, despite his promise to call more often; he had just been too caught up in his own head and with exams to remember. Harry knew she wouldn’t particularly mind; Gemma was a lot like their mum in that she was very laid-back and understanding, as well as wise and empathetic. They never tried to smother him, which Harry added to the list of reasons he was grateful to have the two of them in his life.

He sent her a prompting message on Facebook and set up his webcam, smiling stupidly wide as her face appeared on his computer screen. She looked pretty as ever, her hair pulled into a sock bun and her eyes dolled up with sparkly blue eye shadow and thick black liner. It appeared she was wearing false eyelashes as well, the way her lashes curved upward perfectly, each delicately separated without a sign of a clump.

“Hey Gem,” he said brightly. “Are you going out?”

“Hi, Harry!” She waved at the camera. “Yeah, I am, actually. In a bit. There’s a party off campus tonight. To celebrate the end of exams and all that. How did yours go?”

“They went great, yeah. Passed all of them, of course. Got my highest mark in English.”

“Yeah, well, don’t rub it in,” she said with mock indigence. 

“How’d you do then?”

“Oh, fine, I’m only joking. Yeah, psychology is hard and all that, but it’s really interesting. I’m glad I’m taking it.”

“So you’re good then?” Harry didn’t want to be selfish, but he was really eager to tell her about Louis; he wanted to change her opinion about him from the last time they spoke.

“Yeah, I’m great. There’s been a lot of drama, obviously, ‘cause it’s uni. My roommate and her boyfriend have been on-and-off for a while, right? So they broke up and he had sex with her friend Rachel, so she had sex with his friend Tom, and then I walked in on them having sex the other day, which was horrible, and now they’re not speaking to each other. I swear, this place is like a fucking soap opera or something. Meanwhile I get nothing but douchebags and wankers rubbing my leg at parties and spilling vodka on my shirt while they try to talk themselves into getting in my pants.” She huffed a petulant sigh, and Harry chuckled at her misfortune.

“And I thought high school was bad.”

“Well, at least you don’t have gross, sweaty blokes coming onto you all the time, though I’m sure you’d enjoy that. I’m thinking of not wearing any deodorant when I go tonight, maybe that’ll fend them off.”

“I don’t know, Gem, you want them to think you’re not into them, not that you don’t shower. Make an announcement at the beginning of the party saying you’re a lesbian or something,” he joked.

“And then have all the girls come after me?”

“You’re really sure of yourself, aren’t you?” He laughed.

“I know I’m not repulsive, and being not repulsive is what gets you hit on in places like this where most of the population isn’t exactly easy on the eyes.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged.

“Anyway, how have you been then?”

“I’m good, actually. Really good. I, um, wanted to talk to you about something. Something important,” he said slightly nervously.

She furrowed her eyebrows sternly. “Is it about that guy again?”

“Come on, Gem,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I know you don’t approve but listen, all right?”

“It’s not that I don’t approve, Harry, I just know how you get when you like people and I know how people take advantage of it and how hurt you get.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I have good stuff to tell you, I promise.”

“All right, well, go on then. I’ve gotta leave in a half hour though, so make it snippy, not that I wouldn’t love to sit here for the rest of the night and listen to your boy troubles,” she said with a smirk.

“They’re not really troubles, honestly,” he smiled. “Me and Louis, we kind of have this, uh, thing now.”

“A thing?” She asked skeptically.

“Well, he kissed me the other week.”

“Oh,” she said in slight shock. “Um, I guess that rules out the idea he’s only using you to take the piss, then.”

“I never really thought that, to be honest. But yeah, we’ve done, uh, other things since then, and no, I’m not gonna tell you what they are,” he clarified.

Her eyes grew stern again. “You’ve only just kissed and you’ve already started doing other things?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that look!”

“What look?” She held up her hands defensively.

“That… judge-y look, like you got last time.”

“Who’s judging? I’m not judging, is there anybody else in this room judging?” She lifted her laptop to glance around the room sarcastically. 

“Yeah but you don’t seem to like Louis much. You get really serious when I mention him.”

“I don’t even know the guy,” she shrugged.

“Exactly. I asked mum what she thought and she said she likes him.”

“Mum always was a bit too trusting,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Gemma,” he groaned.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I want to be supportive but this guy just sounds like bad news, is all.”

“How though?”

“Well, I don’t know, Harry. You said he messed you about for a while and confused you, now he’s kissing you and doing ‘other things’,” she put air quotes around the words, “I just get bad vibes from him. He might be using you.”

“For what?” Harry protested loudly.

“Sex? It sounds like you two are moving a bit fast.”

“Well, if you must know we’ve hung out a bunch of times in the past week and we haven’t done anything except kissed, so why would he keep hanging out with me if he was using me for sex?”

Gemma tilted her head from side to side, pulling her lip into her mouth, seeming to accept a bit of defeat.

“Besides, of all the people to use for sex, why me? I’m a virgin and I’ve only ever done anything with one bloke. He knows that. Why would he bother with me when he can just get it somewhere else?”

She let the words sink in for a moment, before letting out a sigh and nodding slightly. “You make a good point, I guess,” she concurred. “But Harry… you know I’m just worried about you, right? I’m not trying to put you down or anything.”

“I know. But I really do like him, Gem. A lot. He makes me feel really good, and I don’t even mean like that,” he said with a grin.

“Cheeky,” she mumbled affectionately. “I know there’s nothing I can do to stop you or make you not like him, just be careful, yeah? I don’t want to see you not call me for a few weeks then come back crying saying, ‘I thought he liked me, I thought we were gonna get married!’” 

“I’m 16, not 12, sis. I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.”

“But I want you to do something, okay? Just to make sure.”

“What?”

“Tell him you’re not ready to have sex yet. That’s the best way to figure out what he wants.”

Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. “How?”

“Because,” she explained, “if you say you’re not ready to have sex yet and that’s all he wants, he’s probably not gonna stick around. I’m gonna assume he has a lot more experience than you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said meekly, “a lot more. He’s 2 years older than me after all.”

“Exactly. He won’t stick around if all he wants is a bit of action and you won’t give it to him. You obviously remember what happened last time.”

Although it had been over a year and Harry had gotten over it, what happened with Will still bothered him, and he liked to bring it up as little as possible. “Can we not talk about that?” He muttered awkwardly.

“Of course not, I was just saying.” She glanced at her watch briefly. “I don’t mean to cut you off, babe, but I should go. I’ve gotta go call a cab and everything.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her.

“All right, now don’t wait this long to call me again, all right? I want to talk to you more. I miss you, kid.”

“I miss you too.”

“Enjoy yourself, Harry, but be careful, like I said. You never know what people are thinking,” she warned.

“Yeah. Thanks for listening, sis.”

“Any time. I love you!”

“I love you too. Bye!”

He closed Skype and went back to horsing around on the internet, happy that he at least managed to convince her Louis wasn’t the Big Bad Wolf. That was enough for now, and gave Harry an even bigger sense of hope. ‘Enjoy yourself,’ she’d said, and that was exactly what he planned to do. He would have the sex talk with Louis, when the time was right, he didn’t want to just bring it up out of the blue.

He opted to wait until the time seemed right.

*

Harry wasn’t sure what time Louis would be coming to get him, nor did he know where the gig was taking place. His mum was going out with her friends as usual, and Harry decided to withhold the information of what’d he’d be doing for the night; if he told her about it, it would inevitably lead to more questions, about where it was being held and what the night would entail, and Harry didn’t know nor did he care to explain. He told her he’d be spending the night in, and she left him with some money for take-away and a kiss on the forehead.

He wasn’t sure what to wear, and spent the entire time he waited for Louis frantically searching for a suitable outfit. His usual wardrobe consisted of simple loose fitting jeans and cargo pants, random vintage t-shirts, the odd rarely worn blazer for special occasions, and different coloured flannel shirts. He tried 4 different outfits on before smacking himself on the head and realizing, ‘This isn’t a date. He already knows how I dress. Why does it matter? Be cool, Harry.’

He managed to shake away his nervousness, and felt a comforting sense of relief when the doorbell rang at half past 9. His heart leapt at the sound and he made his way down to open it with a smile on his face, which faded noticeably when he opened the door to reveal Louis standing before him wearing a naughty grin and a tattered rucksack over his shoulder.

“What’s in the bag?” Harry asked warily, looking Louis up and down.

“Your costume,” Louis said mischievously, winking at him and stepping past him through the doorway. “Is your mum around?”

“No, like I told you, she goes out on Friday nights,” Harry answered.

“Perfect. Let’s go get you dolled up then.” 

Louis gave him a slap on the shoulder, gesturing for him to follow him upstairs. Harry stood in place for a moment, confused, before turning and following him reluctantly. “You know Halloween was like, 3 months ago, right?”

“It’s not a fucking Halloween costume, you prat,” he scoffed, turning to grab Harry by the arm and pull him unwillingly into his room. “You’re gonna dress like one of us again.”

“What for?” He asked as Louis closed the door, scratching the back of his head.

“You’ve gotta blend in again,” he explained as he threw the rucksack on Harry’s bed and began to shuffle through it. “Where we’re going isn’t all ages so you’re gonna have a hard time getting in looking like an infant.”

Harry’s mouth fell open and he sputtered in offence. “Infant? Are you saying I look like an infant?”

Louis turned his head, eyebrow raised as his eyes gestured up and down Harry’s frame, indicating his clothes. He shrugged affirmatively. “A bit, yeah.”

“So does that make you a pedophile?”

Letting out a burst of choked laughter, Louis covered his mouth to stifle it and looked toward Harry again. “Harry Styles, did you just sass me? Jesus Christ, not only are you gonna dress like me, you’re gonna become me. What have I done?” He groaned dramatically.

Harry scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t look that young,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, but you don’t look 18 either and don’t even try to argue that,” Louis pointed a finger at him, before turning his attention back to the rucksack and pulling out the contents. “All right, these jeans,” he started, throwing a pair of black skinny jeans at Harry, which merely hit him square in the torso and fell the floor. Louis rolled his eyes. “This shirt, and be careful with it, it’s one of my favourites so no jerking off boys in the washrooms,” he scolded, tossing the t-shirt which Harry managed to catch this time. “And, this jacket. But you can put that on later.”

“This is supposed to make me look older?” Harry said sceptically, inspecting the clothes in his arms.

“Well, that’s not all we’re gonna do, you wanker, you remember what we did last time. Just get changed first.” Louis fell back onto Harry’s mattress, bracing his palms against the blanket and staring up at Harry expectantly.

“Aren’t you gonna look away?”

“Are you mental? I’ve seen you with your cock out, in my hand, and you’re shy about stripping to your drawers in front of me?”

Harry flushed, unaware that what had happened between them was allowed to spoken of. He assumed it would just a thing, a physical thing, something they both knew happened but never commented on. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, clearing his throat, “but you’ve never seen me completely naked. Don’t want to ruin the surprise for you.”

Louis shrugged. “I used to always skip to the end of the book before I read the first chapter anyway, so go on.”

“You read?” Harry asked cheekily.

“Oh, fuck off and get naked already.”

Harry chuckled, opting to say fuck it and strip because hey, it wasn’t as if he’d be completely naked. He took off his pants first, slipping into the skinny jeans with obviously difficulty. Louis laughed at him as he hopped on one leg, attempting to get the other through the pant leg and nearly falling into his dresser due to lack of balance. He gave him an indignant look. “I’m not used to jeans this tight,” he defended himself, to which Louis simply shrugged again.

When he’d finally gotten both legs through and closed the button, he took off his shirt and through it on his floor, picking the band shirt Louis had given him from off his dresser. Louis stood up at the sight of his bare chest, a curious expression crossing his face. He began to approach him, and Harry backed away slightly.

“What? What is it?”

“Have you got… four nipples?” 

“Oh,” Harry laughed, surprisingly not very shy. He was used to people noticing his nipples; they were one of his strangely well-known traits and he’d even been asked to show them a few times at camp. “Yeah. I’ve always had him, always will.”

Louis grinned, reaching down to trace over them with his fingertips. Harry attempted to conceal the shudder that wracked his body at Louis’ touch. “That’s… quirky,” he said with a laugh.

“Innit?” Harry slipped the shirt over his head before raising his eyebrows to Louis as if to ask, ‘what next?’ Louis nodded and moved toward his rucksack again, pulling a pencil as well as a few silver objects from the smallest pocket.

“To complete the look,” he stood before Harry again and Harry could see the silver objects were, of course, fake piercings. He clipped them onto Harry’s nose and cartilage, then picked up the pencil to rim Harry’s eyes with black. “All right. There we go. And now, the final touch,” he pulled a leather jacket out of the rucksack and guided Harry toward the tall mirror in his room, slipping Harry’s arms into the sleeves as he stood behind him.

He brushed his hands swiftly over the arms of the jacket as if to sweep away dust, then the strokes slowed and Louis began to inspect the outfit carefully. He circled Harry like he had the first time they’d dressed him up, lip pulled between his teeth and brows set in a thick line. This time, Harry didn’t feel as uncomfortable under his scrutiny, actually enjoying it. He still felt a bit awkward in the clothes, the jeans hugging his arse a little too tightly and the leather jacket doing nothing to make him look intimidating.

His previous confidence was starting to waver slightly as Louis continued to inspect him, the silence lingering as Louis’ eyes dropped to look at his bum. Harry swallowed, feeling his palms beginning to sweat and his heart to race. The close proximity was a little too much, especially under all the layers of tight clothing. “So, um, how do I look?”

Louis turned him around and gave him one last once-over. A smile slowly pulled at his lips as he raised his head to look Harry in the eyes. “Fit,” he muttered before gripping Harry’s shoulders and pulling him into a kiss. 

Harry gasped in surprise as Louis slid the leather jacket off his shoulders and lead him toward the bed, dropping them onto it and crawling on top of him. Harry was bug-eyed as Louis pressed down again, reconnecting their lips feverishly and gripping his thigh, lifting Harry’s leg to rest against his hip. Harry recovered from his initial shock and returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and pulling him even closer.

Louis was intense above him, kissing Harry with unrestrained passion as his hand grazed up and down Harry’s thigh perched against his hip. He moved his other hand to hold Harry’s neck in place, licking into his mouth and tangling their tongues together. Harry was already panting as Louis detached their mouths and began nipping at his neck, leaving tiny love bites in any place he could reach.

“I guess I do look pretty good?” Harry panted with a breathy laugh.

“You look really good like this,” Louis kissed him again, slower, breathing in through his nose and pulling Harry upward slightly. Harry followed him, moaning into his mouth and running his hands down his chest. Louis kissed him once more, before pulling back and grinning down at him. “But we shouldn’t get into this now. We’ve gotta go soon and I don’t want you getting hard and not being able to do anything about it.” He bit his chin playfully and pushed himself off the bed, walking over to the door then looking back at Harry, who lay mussed, hot and very bothered against the mattress. “Let’s go, mate. Don’t forget the jacket.”

Harry stared after him in shock. ‘What a fucking tease.’

He was grateful they hadn’t been going at it very long as he would have been left with a serious case of blue balls had it lasted much longer, and while Harry thought such an action would make him feel rejected and sad, he actually found himself smiling at Louis’ retreating figure, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. Louis clearly loved to tease him, to get him wound up and leave him hanging, to push his buttons, and Harry found he actually kind of liked it.

*

There was a small, black car waiting for them as they made their way outside, Harry walking with his arms crossed in a mock-annoyed expression as Louis laughed at him. Harry was able to make out Zayn in the driver’s seat with Liam sitting in the passenger side with a hunched figure sitting in the back, which Harry realized as they walked closer was Niall attempting to light a spliff.

Niall smirked at them as they entered the car, Louis taking the seat beside Niall and Harry nestling into Louis’ side. “He did you up again then, did he?” He quipped, observing Harry’s appearance.

“O’ course,” Louis grinned, lifting his arm to rest behind Harry and tangling his fingers in his curls. “He’s gotta blend in.”

“Or else I’d look like an infant, according to Louis,” Harry grumbled.

“So does that make Louis a -” Zayn started before Louis cut him off shortly.

“Pedophile, yeah, Harry already beat you to the punch.”

The four of them bickered good naturedly on the ride to the gig with Harry remaining relatively quiet beside Louis. However, he didn’t feel awkward at all; he laughed when Niall jokingly pretended to forget their set list and Zayn shot him a dirty glare, goaded Liam along with the others when they teased him about his girlfriend coming along with her friend, and even made a cheeky comment of his own when Louis mocked Zayn for being too serious. That, along with Louis’ arm around his shoulders and the comforting pressure of his body pressed against his, Harry was surprised by how at ease he felt. He didn’t even have to remind himself to just enjoy it.

The club was different from the last one; it was a bit farther away, a swankier place called “The Slinky Cat”. When Harry raised his eyebrow at the name, Louis informed him that, every now and again the club had a music night where local bands of any genre could play a few songs and potentially get themselves noticed, but the music played there was usually blues. The boys had been trying to secure a spot for a while, only able to do it when they’d all turned 18. This made Harry a bit nervous about getting in, but they assured him he had nothing to worry about, as the bouncers rarely checked IDs, and, if he blended in with them, he would have even less trouble.

They were right, and Harry was allowed into the club without any issue. The inside was much different than the other; instead of a dance floor, there was a large stage at the back, a couple of feet high, with a large, wide space for the people to stand and watch the show. Harry suspected this was a club more targeted toward music and performing rather than techno and dancing. The bar was further off to the side, and while, there was less noise due to the lack of bass pounding out of the speakers, the hustle and bustle of the patrons of the club was enough to make it rather hard to hear.’

The place was dimly lit and felt more like a pub than a club, only much bigger and with far more people. Harry found the homeliness far less intimidating and more relaxing than the booming beats and bass drops of the dance club, and observed he was less likely to get lost, although, with Louis by his side, he doubted he had much to worry about in that department regardless.

Louis led Harry over to the bar while the others headed backstage to get ready. They were up third, and had to confirm their set list with the manager and warm up. Louis bought them both a beer, which Harry accepted with a wan smile, and they headed over toward the stage. They chatted aimlessly for a few minutes before the first act came on, Harry wincing and grimacing with each sip of the bitter alcohol; he definitely much preferred weed.

The first act was a Beatles cover band. The singer was a slight woman with straggly brown hair and rather large front teeth, and the band was quite similar in appearance, only male with more facial hair. Louis scoffed and turned his nose up to the music selection, earning an immediate objection from Harry. Louis referred to them as “pansy, hippie music”. They performed ‘Let It Be’ and ‘Hey Jude’, both of which Harry sang along to with the crowd simply to be an annoyance. It worked, Louis grumbling something involving the word “twat” before returning to the bar before ‘Hey Jude’ ended.

When he returned, another two beers in hand, Harry was feeling quite buzzed already and found he was enjoying himself immensely. The second act was a group of goth-looking teens; 4 males each wearing matching black outfits, heavily smudged and smeared black eyeliner, black lipstick, and rather feminine black leather boots. Their faces were deathly pale, appearing in the lighting to be smeared with either flour or baby powder, and Harry made a joke about Louis being “one of them”. Louis swatted him on the arm, protesting that he was definitely not goth and that he was sick and tired of people mistaking punks for goths. Harry simply laughed and returned his attention to the stage, where the rather sickly-looking teens sang a few songs about death, depression, suffering, and sadness. Typical emo fare.

When the boys finally took the stage, the two of them let out obnoxious, simultaneous wolf-whistles, clapping their hands drunkenly above their hands. Zayn rolled his eyes, strapping his guitar over his shoulder and introducing them as “Vacant Description”, eliciting muffled chuckles from Harry and Louis, which Zayn must have heard as he shot them both a look. He introduced their first song, ‘Live Fast Die Young’ by Circle Jerks, a band Harry had never heard of but he assumed was punk, and began to play. Niall pounded against the drums as Zayn let out the opening cry of, “GO!”. The song was fast and dirty, Zayn belting the lyrics into the microphone in what could more accurately be described as shouting than singing. Harry made it a point to watch them as they performed; he always found he learned the most about people when watching them do something they loved.

Zayn’s eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was wide open as he shouted into the mic, his deft fingers violently strumming the strings of his guitar. Although his expression appeared somewhat angry and vicious, there was a sort of tranquility in his eyes that Harry couldn’t help but pick up on. The way the pools of deep brown held an unfamiliar glassiness, but it wasn’t anything like the glossy haze that filmed over your eyes when you were stoned. It was almost a sparkle, a sparkle that just may have been blinding if there was a smile to accompany it. Harry had always perceived Zayn as moody and a bit cross, but then, he radiated passion and energy and Harry actually found himself nodding his head up and down in a rather timid headbang.

Liam behaved as Harry had expected him to; a bit stiff, his eyes tight and bottom lip pulled into his mouth, leaning forward slightly on his right leg as he strummed the strings of his bass. He was more awkward and stilted than Zayn, but nonetheless played with what Harry felt was reasonable skill, despite his unfamiliarity with the genre. Niall, on the other hand, seemed utterly unlike himself. The boy, who was typically silly and rambunctious, now looked utterly serious and concentrated; his eyes closed and lip pulled between his teeth, his head thrashing dramatically, he looked like a completely different person.

There was a certain reckless abandon to the song that struck Harry, an almost anarchy that he couldn’t describe. It pumped him up, and he found himself jumping up and down out of sheer joy, his curls flying in every direction as he lost himself in the music. The crowd reacted similarly, some even shouting the lyrics along with him, and Harry found himself glancing out Louis with a mega-watt smile to gouge his reaction. Louis was grinning from ear-to-ear, and when he turned to Harry, he looked almost unrecognizable, his smile so wide and blinding his eyes were obscured by these endearing crinkles that sent flutters through Harry’s stomach. He looked so proud, as if the people on stage were his own family, and the fact that he shared his smile with Harry made him feel breathtakingly close to him.

They played ‘Anarchy in the UK’ by the Sex Pistols next, a song Harry knew as Louis had played it several times around him, and during the opening riff, Harry found himself being pulled against Louis’ side by his neck. He grinned as his head met Louis’ shoulder and Louis sang the lyrics along with Zayn, gesturing for Harry to follow suit. Harry simply laughed and wrapped his arm around Louis’ waist, not only ignorant of the lyrics but just wanting to simply enjoy the show. Although he had never been a fan of punk music, this exposure was beginning to make him understand the appeal.

It was cynical, without being depressing or alienating, blistering but not deafening, with an appealing, carefree aura that made Harry feel alive. He was much more of an indie fan himself, but he could appreciate different types of music for what they were and what they stood for, and for that reason he considered himself somewhat eclectic. He also thought music, or any passion really, tended to bring out the best in people, and he found, as he watched the boys onstage, with their silly band name and their passionate vigour and their utter loss of themselves in the sound, he liked them more than he ever had before.

And then, watching Louis with his proud smile and crinkly eyes and unguarded affection for his friends before his eyes, Harry maybe found himself falling a little bit harder for him as well.

*

They’d met up with the boys at the bar after their set was over, and the five of them shared a “victory” shot of vodka in celebration. Harry was feeling pleasantly buzzed although not quite drunk, as he only finished half the second beer Louis had given him and didn’t drink anything else, save the vodka shot, for the rest of the night. Zayn’s attention was quickly diverted by a striking, exotic-looking brunette with a scally accent who told him he was “wicked brilliant” on stage, and Zayn was gone the next time Harry turned his head, the girl in tow.

Harry met Liam’s girlfriend Danielle, a pretty, dark-skinned girl with wild curly hair and a bright smile, who Liam looked at as if she was the sun. 

“You’re so cute!” Danielle exclaimed as he reached out to shake her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Harry,” he said, giving her a cheeky bow.

“Oh my god! Can I take him home and keep him, Liam?” She said, cuddling up to Liam’s side and beaming at Harry.

Liam laughed in response. “Sorry, babe, but I’m afraid he belongs to Louis.”

“Is that so?” She said, seeming surprised. “I thought Louis didn’t do boyfriends?”

Harry laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Um, I’m not his boyfriend, we just, uh, came together.” He almost chuckled when he realized the double entendre in that sentence, although he supposed that wasn’t exactly true, as he hadn’t made Louis cum yet. ‘Get your mind out of the gutter, Styles,’ he internally scolded himself.

“Well, if I wasn’t taken, you would be my boyfriend,” she said, detaching herself from Liam’s grip and kissing Harry on the cheek. He smiled and blushed. “Come, I want you to meet my friend!” She took his hand and led him over to where Niall was standing, talking to who appeared to be Danielle’s friend.

Her friend was a timid brunette called Eleanor, who spoke and smiled softly and appeared completely out of her element. Niall chatted her up a bit, making her laugh and blush and feel a bit more at ease. Harry was starting to get the feeling Niall could do that with anyone; he remembered his first time at the club, when Niall helped him work up the courage to man up and move onto the dance floor. It made him really want to be his friend.

Eleanor nodded meekly at Harry when Danielle introduced him, barely shifting her body to look around at him before turning her attention back to Niall. Danielle apologized for her rudeness, but Harry felt far too content to complain, observing the joy and the blurry excitement around him. He was so caught up in his thoughts, simply standing with a dorky smile plastered on his face, that he let out a gasp of surprise when he felt Louis crowding next to him, whispering, “We should get you home,” into his ear. Harry nodded smilingly and the two of them waved their goodbyes, Harry letting out a shout of, “You lads were brilliant!”, as Louis guided him out of the club.

“That was sick!” Harry said excitedly as he and Louis stepped out into the chilly winter air, jumping slightly in his giddiness. 

Louis lit a cigarette, cupping his fingers around the flame of the lighter to avoid the wind blowing it out. “The music or the alcohol?” He teased.

“The music! I’m not even that drunk!”

“Your stupid smile says otherwise,” he said, although there was a tinge of affection in his voice. He held his pack of cigarettes toward Harry, offering him one, and Harry decided, ‘why not?’, with a shrug, taking one and muttering a faint thank you. He stuck it in his mouth and extended his hand to retrieve Louis’ lighter.

Louis pulled his lip between his teeth in contemplation, flicking the lighter a few times but unable to sustain a flame. “It’s too windy. Come here.” They paused in the middle of the pavement, Louis ushering Harry forward with his finger, placing his lit cigarette back in his mouth and instructing Harry to connect it with his own. Harry was a bit puzzled and Louis rolled his eyes, reaching up to pull Harry in by the neck. His skin tingled slightly where Louis touched it, sending a shiver down his spine that he wasn’t sure was from the cold or the brush of Louis’ fingers.

“Still so much to learn, Styles,” Louis said when he let go, Harry’s cigarette finally successfully lit.

“Yeah,” Harry replied with a slightly dazed smile.

“So,” Louis commented, beginning to walk again. “Was I able to convert you?”

“What?” He asked, inhaling a deep drag of the bitter smoke and exhaling it with a slight cough.

“To real music.”

“Oh, yeah! It was brilliant! Your mates were really good.”

“Good. So we’ve enlightened you a little bit.”

“Hey, hey, I’m actually a lot more eclectic than you think I am!”

“Eclectic?” Louis repeated with a laugh.

“Yeah, like diverse you know. You’d be surprised to hear some of the concerts I’ve been to.”

“Oh yeah?” He responded curiously. “Go on.”

“My dad used to take me to loads. I saw Iron Maiden once, they were really good. My dad was a big metal fan so like he’d always be listening to it and stuff. I saw Judas Priest as well.”

Louis looked at him in surprise. “Really? You never told me you were into that.”

Harry shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Well, it’s not like I listen to it very often, you know, I’m more into indie and all that stuff. But I feel like… different music speaks to different sides of people, you know what I mean? Indie and alternative and music like that is more chilled and calm, like it’s got loads of different meanings and all that but the mood is generally the same. But people aren’t calm all the time. I’m not. Stuff like punk and all that is more rough, like, free and insubordinate and ‘I don’t care what anyone thinks’. Metal is angry, blues is sad, I don’t mean the lyrics, more the tone, you know?” Harry wasn’t sure where the random burst of philosophical pondering had come from, and judging from Louis’ slightly confused expression as he listened, neither did he.

“Sorry,” Harry said, looking down to see the cigarette was nearly burned down to it’s filter and tossing it to the slide. “I got all nerdy on you.”

“No, it’s not that,” Louis said with a chuckle. “That’s just like, the most you’ve ever said at once, I think.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asked, peaking over at Louis from under his windblown curls.

“No,” he said, looking pensive. “Just surprising.” There was a short silence where they simply walked side by side, not looking at each other, the only sounds made the scuff of their shoes against the pavement and the quiet howl of the bitter wind. “I never really thought of music that way,” he continued eventually. “For me, I always just, loved it, I guess. For what it was. Like when I was 16, and I started going through my rebellious phase, I suppose you could call it, I started listening to punk ‘cause it was the only thing that made sense to me. Like you said, it’s insubordinate, and that’s how I felt. Still feel, honestly.”

“Yeah, well, I never felt like that. I was always like, the good kid, you know? So that music didn’t really speak to me, so I didn’t listen to it. I don’t see the point in listening to music if you don’t feel connected to it.”

“Well, it seems you like it now,” Louis laughed. “Am I detecting a change of attitude, Styles?”

“I dunno, does smoking weed and lying to your mum about going to a club count as insubordinate?”

Louis considered the question for a moment, tapping his chin sarcastically. “Um, yes, I think it does.”

“Well, then, yeah, a little bit.”

“Yes!” Louis shouted triumphantly. “I have successfully corrupted you! Mission accomplished!”

Harry shoved him playfully by the shoulder. “So are you gonna ditch me now that the job is done?”

“No, of course not, what kind of mentor do you think I am, leaving you stranded on a cold, windy night in the middle of the street? I’ve got to drop you off at home first!”

“Of course, of course,” he laughed. Harry was enjoying this new, easy banter they found themselves slipping into, and he found himself growing less and less self-conscious in Louis’ presence every day. It finally felt like they were equal, like maybe they could get something out of each other, something satisfying other than sex, that wasn’t one-sided. It made Harry feel comfortable, comfortable enough that the brief silence that followed his laugh didn’t bother him, and didn’t prevent him from asking the question that popped into his head.

“Hey,” he started, “I don’t know if I’m remembering right but didn’t Liam or Zayn say you used to be in their band?”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, his mouth falling open and closed a few times; he clearly wasn’t expecting the question at all. “Um,” he cleared his throat after a short pause, “yeah… I was, actually.” His voice lacked the playful, joking tone it previously displayed, and Harry was wondering if he’d struck a negative chord, if maybe there was a long story as to why he wasn’t anymore.

“Did you, uh, did you quit or something?”

His face grew alarmingly serious but he didn’t look angry or annoyed; Harry found himself quite unable to read it. “Yeah. About a year or so ago.”

They walked in silence for another minute, Harry looking over at Louis every few seconds, attempting to gouge his reaction to no avail. “Why’d you quit then?”

Louis pulled out another cigarette from his pocket and paused to light it, then shrugged and continued to walk, staring into the dark distance. Harry was slightly alarmed by the abrupt change in atmosphere; the conversation had turned from funny and light to stiff and almost bitter. “Dunno. Didn’t want to do it anymore, I guess.”

“But you love music!”

“Yeah, well,” he snapped, his voice rising, “not everyone is meant to do things just because they love it. Some people may like painting but that doesn’t mean they’re gonna be an artist, does it?”

Harry flinched at his infliction, going silent again and looking anywhere but toward Louis. He really wanted to know why the subject made Louis so upset, but he didn’t want to make him any angrier, or pry into business that wasn’t any of his concern. The silence lingered as they continued their trek, Harry shoving his hands into his pockets awkwardly and Louis staring at the ground, smoking his cigarette and sighing every few moments.

“What did you do? In the band, that is?” Harry asked finally, daring a glance in Louis’ direction.

His expression didn’t change; he took the final drag of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, blowing the smoke to the side. “I was the singer,” he admitted, smiling ruefully at Harry before looking downward again.

Harry was so struck he could barely speak. His legs continued to move but he didn’t take his eyes off Louis once. There was an insecurity to his posture, a broken, sorrowful glaze to his eyes, and a lack of genuineness in his smile that made Harry’s stomach sink; he had never, ever seen Louis look like this. The hunched, self-conscious figure beside him was a far-cry from the brazen, loud, confident Louis he had grown so used to, and Harry wanted to hold him and kiss him and whisper to him until that Louis came back. But he knew he couldn’t.

He didn’t know how long they’d been walking without speaking when Louis finally broke the silence. “Look, Harry, I’m, um, I’m really tired, you can find your way home from here, right? You don’t live that far.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said immediately, although the last thing he wanted at that moment was to let Louis go.

“Sorry, mate,” he said, slapping Harry on the shoulder lightly and giving him another forced smile before turning to walk in the other direction.

“Lou, wait,” Harry said before he could move. Louis turned back around. There was a pause during which they simply looked at each other, Louis’ expression blank and Harry’s full of unhidden sympathy. “I’m sure you were brilliant.”

That seemed to hit Louis, whose mouth spread into a sad smile. Sadness didn’t suit Louis, his piercings no longer making him look tough; in fact, they became barely visible. The only thing Harry could see was Louis’ eyes, which were not glazed with tears but rather creased in defeat. Louis leaned over and pressed his lips to Harry’s, raising his hand to cup the back of his neck and slipping his tongue into his mouth. Harry rested his palm against Louis’ cheek and kissed back, gently sliding his tongue against Louis’. His other hand clung to his jacket, Harry attempted to convey the support and love he held for Louis in the curl of his fingers and the brush of his lips.

When Louis pulled back and walked away without another word, Harry watched him leave, the uncertainty he’d been trying to leave behind creeping back inside him and twisting his stomach in knots.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took quite a while for me to finish, so I really hope it was worth the wait. Please send feedback; I'd love to hear how you guys feel about the developments taking place!

The final steps back to Harry’s house seem to stretch out for hours, even though they don’t last longer than 15 minutes, because Harry can’t seem to get the moment out of his head. He thought about it as he walked through his front door, as he threw his jacket over the hook on the wall, even as he flopped in a defeated heap against his bed. His lips still lingered long after they’d pulled away, Harry memorizing the soft, almost sad way they moved against his. He couldn’t get the look in his eyes out of his head, the way they fell when Harry mentioned the band, every ounce of mischief and playfulness fading into something much lonelier. 

He wants to ask him about it, of course he does. Because to Harry, emotions, feelings, insecurities and the like, are things that should be talked about. He knows from experience that keeping them bottled up inside will do nothing but begin to suffocate you after a while. But if there was one thing Harry had learned about Louis, it was that he felt the opposite. Louis was content to pretend he had absolutely no care in the world, that he was untouchable, invincible even. He wore a mask every single day, one strapped on so tight and so rarely pulled back for air that nearly everyone that crossed his path assumed it to be his real face. 

But Harry had never been like everyone else, and he could look past it even when Louis refused to allow him to. Louis wasn’t the apathetic, careless, no-good hoodlum he was assumed to be. When people looked at Louis, they saw the smudged black kohl that rimmed his eyes, that conveyed to them, “don’t look, there’s nothing for you to find”, because they were too simple-minded to be willing to look. They saw the symbols rebellion that covered his arm, traced in permanent ink that indicated a never-changing attitude. The metal that pierced his skin, in so many places it was hard to count. These were the things they saw, and they were the things Louis wanted them to see.

Harry wasn’t so blind.

When he looked at Louis, he didn’t see a pierced, inked-up, insubordinate trouble-maker with no regard for anyone but himself like everyone else did, because he was the only one who actually bothered to look. Instead, he just saw Louis, a boy with pride the size of Everest yet insecurities as dampening as the highest tide. Someone who loved his family so completely he branded their names into his skin, and Harry couldn’t be sure if he’d done it to remind them or himself that they’d always be there.

As quickly as Louis had lifted his mask from his face and shared these things, he’d slipped it back on and ran away. Initially this had hurt Harry, made him feel stupid and worthless, but he soon realized how selfish that was.

Louis was guarded; he kept the inner workings of his mind and heart under strenuous lock and key, bound so tightly Harry swore he should have wrinkles. He wasn’t going to pretend he knew why, because that would be presumptuous, and Harry hated every time his mum would assume he was upset just because he wasn’t smiling a certain way, but he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t see it either. No matter how much Louis wanted to think he was above sentiment and feeling, he was still a human being.

To Harry, Louis was more than just an image. He was funny, with a smile he tried to hide but was so bright the light of his eyes could be seen from the highest skyscraper, and he was spontaneous, what some may call reckless Harry would refer to as free-spirited. He lived life with a certain vigour, a certain uncontained passion that prevented you from escaping his web as soon as you’d become entangled in it. He was inspiring, really, because he did things as he thought they should be done, regardless of the discouragement that was tossed his way from every direction. And Harry admired him for that.

Although he wished he wasn’t the only one who recognized this, and he wanted desperately for Louis to open up to him, freely and comfortably and completely, he knew he couldn’t force him to, nor did he want to. He was not a selfish person; he wanted to know how Louis felt about him, what he truly thought of him. He wanted to know why Louis was so cynical, and why he didn’t want to be a part of something he loved so much any longer. But it wasn’t his place to force him, nor was it particularly any of his business. Harry knew there was more to Louis than he let on, because he had shown him, no matter how fleeting the moment, and he had been sincere. That was enough for Harry. Knowing him was enough.

So when Louis texts him the next day, a meaningless text full of cheeky winky faces and usual abundance of humour and sarcasm, Harry decided he’s not going to mention it. Harry knew Louis well enough to understand that he didn’t enjoy being vulnerable, that it would only lead to awkward silence and possible confrontation, and at the end of the day it wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. It would be best to drop it, and if Louis wanted to talk about it, he would. But he didn’t, and Harry didn’t want to push him into doing or admitting something he didn’t want to, so he dropped it.

*

“So it’s my birthday next week,” Harry tells Louis when they’re in McDonald’s a few days later, carrying their trays of cheeseburgers and fries to a secluded table in the back.

Louis grinned at him as they sat at separate sides of the table. “Are you serious? How old you turning then?”

Harry looked at him incredulously. “17, you twat, don’t you know how to do math?”

“Hey!” Louis scolded, smacking his hand with a plastic straw. “Watch your language or I’ll have to give you a spanking.”

“You act like I’m so young when I’m only a year younger than you,” Harry grumbled, nibbling at a chip gingerly.

“Two, actually,” Louis said with a wink.

“I thought you were 18?”

“19. My birthday is before Christmas.”

Harry paused before taking a bite of his burger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis snorted and shrugged, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth and taking a gulp of his drink to wash them down. “Figured it wasn’t important. Birthdays lose their relevance once you’re legal drinking age.”

“Must’ve missed the memo,” Harry mumbled, somewhat disappointed he hadn’t been informed.

“Whatever, it’s not important.” Louis swatted his hands in front of him dismissively. “I’ve already done everything I’ve wanted to do. Multiple times, on multiple birthdays. It’s you we’ve got to sort out now.”

“What’d you have in mind?” 

“You’ll see,” Louis smirked, taking a bite of his burger and chewing slowly as if to egg Harry on.

“Oh, god, Louis, no,” Harry cried, voice crippled with exaggerated anxiety. “I hate surprises. Just tell me.”

“Well, I haven’t figured it out yet, you did only tell me about 5 minutes ago. I’m just trying to wind you up,” he teased.

“Bastard,” Harry grumbled as he chewed on another chip.

“You love it,” Louis said, reaching over the table to pinch Harry’s cheeks mockingly with his greasy fingers. Harry pushed his hand away with a scowl. “Someone’s grumpy today.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Harry objected evenly. “You’re just a tease.”

“So what do you think you’re getting then? Birthday sex?” Louis whispered the last part, low and seductive.

Harry immediately turned as red as a beet. He suddenly remembered what Gemma had instructed him to do; to tell Louis he wasn’t ready to have sex, and wouldn’t be for a long time. It was an awkward subject to broach, and Harry thought the back table of a dingy McDonald’s on a Monday afternoon was probably the worst place to bring it up, but he figured it was as good a time as any, really, as Louis obviously wasn’t one for serious talks.

“Um,” Harry cleared his throat roughly, scratching his red, heated cheek. He kept his eyes on the table as he said, “Actually, I was meaning to um, ask you about that.”

“What?” Louis said, his right eyebrow shifting upward. “Sex?”

Harry’s blush deepened at the word. “Yeah,” he replied shakily. “Um…” There was a pause as he tried to find the appropriate phrasing, fiddling with the greasy napkin resting on his tray. He thought he was over this whole tongue-tied, ‘I-fancy-you-so-much-I-can’t-form-a-coherent-sentence-around-you’, phase he’d found himself in ever since meeting Louis, but he digressed he wasn’t invincible; the topic of sex did still make him uncomfortable, no matter how used to Louis he continued to get.

The words came eventually, and Harry had to clear his throat again to get them out. “This… thing that we’ve got going on…”

“Thing?” Louis said skeptically, wiping a smear of ketchup from the corner of his lip.

“Yeah, you know… us shagging and all that,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“What about it?” The nonchalance in Louis’ voice eased Harry’s mind a bit, and he suddenly found it easier to talk. “Do you want to stop or something?”

“No!” Harry clarified somewhat manically, causing a grin to form on Louis’ face. “No, that’s not what I meant. I like it.” Louis’ grin only widened. “I just… you’re a lot more experienced than me, you know? I’m a virgin,” Harry said somewhat guiltily.

Louis finished the last bite of his burger, chewing with a somewhat pensive expression. “So what is it you’re saying then?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to have sex yet. It’s kind of a big deal for me,” he laughed nervously.

There was a brief pause during which Louis simply looked at him blankly, before nodding. He collected his dirty napkins from the table and set them on his tree, standing to carry them over to the trash. Harry followed him, disposing of his own garbage and eyeing him anxiously out of the corner of his eye. They exited the restaurant in silence. He continued to watch Louis as they walked, and he was about to get worried when a smile slowly broke out across Louis’ face and he was shoving Harry against the side of the building.

Harry let out a sound that was embarrassingly close to a squeak as his back hit the surface, which was thankfully muted by Louis’ lips crashing against his. His eyes widened in shock, and he lifted his hand to rest against Louis’ chin, his breath stuck in his throat. He let out a short gasp as they parted, and Louis playfully bit Harry’s jaw as he pulled back.

“Don’t worry about the sex thing, mate,” he said, tugging at the lapels of Harry’s jacket reassuringly. “There’s no rush. There are so many other things we can do in the meantime,” he added with a wink.

“You’re unbelievable,” Harry breathed wondrously, smiling brightly with wide eyes.

“So I’ve been told.” He released Harry’s lapels with a final tug. “I’ve said I’d be at Niall’s an hour ago, but I’m obviously not very punctual so I’m sure they’ll understand. You want to come along? My quest to instill you with some proper knowledge of punk music is far from over.”

Harry swallowed, that dreadful feeling of unease creeping back into his stomach. “Is Zayn gonna be there?”

Louis laughed hysterically. “Bloody hell, Harry, you look petrified. What do you think he’s gonna do, castrate you?”

“No!” Harry protested, smacking him on the arm. “He just… doesn’t seem to like me all that much.”

“Zayn doesn’t seem to like anyone that much,” he said. “It’s just his face. I mean I’m sure you’re not his favourite person in the world but we’re gonna be massively stoned anyway so it’s not like it’ll matter.”

“Is that all you do all day?” He inquired. “Get massively stoned?”

“What else is there to do?”

“I don’t know. Read a book, go to the cinema. Homework?”

Louis barked out another laugh. “You’re funnier than you give yourself credit for, Styles. Now come on, let’s go get massively stoned.”

 

*

“I see you brought the new boy toy,” Zayn quipped as they arrived, led into the basement by Niall, who greeted Harry with a warm smile and an accepting nod.

Harry’s eyes scanned the room; there were pizza boxes scattered amongst cans of pop and water bottles, a glass table in the centre of the room covered in bongs and ashtrays, and a large drum set stored in the corner, surrounded by CDs and old records. Harry smiled at the sight, deeming it pleasantly picturesque in his head, and gave the boys a timid nod, sticking close to Louis’ side.

“Oh, hi Harry,” Liam said politely. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“Not that Louis ever shares his plans,” Zayn grumbled.

“Hey Zayn, when was the last time you got laid?” Louis asked, voice dripping with condescension.

Niall snorted. “Clearly not as recently as you.”

“Not to brag, but I always have had the most thriving sex life.” He plopped down on a dingy, torn-up couch sitting in the centre of the room, patting the seat next to him for Harry to sit. Harry felt a bit lost in the midst of their banter, crowding close to Louis and hooking an ankle around his. To Harry’s relief, he didn’t resist.

“That’s because you’re queer,” Zayn added, grabbing a black, circular grinder from the table and beginning to twist it around.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked suddenly, his eyes wide, not quite understanding the statement.

“Gay blokes are so slutty. Just look at Lou; he wasn’t always a taken man,” Niall joked, tossing Harry a wink.

“Hey, I’m still not taken,” Louis clarified, detaching his ankle from Harry’s. Harry tried not to miss the contact. “And I resent being seen as a representative of the entire gay community. Trust me, there’s a lot more prudes than you’d think. Just look at this one.” He turned to Harry and grinned at him, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Hey!” Harry cried, his head falling against Louis’ shoulder. “’M not a prude.”

“Yeah, yeah, get a room,” Zayn muttered. “Are we gonna burn or not?”

*

During the next hour, Harry was introduced to yet another device used for smoking weed; a small, electric device with a tube attached to the end called a vaporiser. It was less harsh than a bong and more pure than a joint, and the five of them passed it around the table, each taking 3 or 4 puffs at a time before handing it to the next person. The effect was much more gradual than a bong, which Harry found got him high immediately. This time, it took him about a half hour to notice he felt any different, but when he did, it hit him like a fire truck, and he found himself giggling at nearly everything that came out of everyone’s mouth, his chest vibrating and mind fuzzy. Thankfully, he was still able to talk, and found the nerves he usually felt in the presence of Louis and his friends to be largely absent.

Liam and Niall didn’t seem particularly bothered by his presence; they listened when he spoke, asked him prodding questions, and appeared to be genuinely interested in his answers. They discussed music for the most part, which Harry suspected was their most common topic of conversation, and were all extremely surprised when Harry intercepted an argument between Niall and Louis regarding who was the better guitarist, Slash or Tom Morello.

“You can’t really compare them,” Harry said, voice even slower than usual due to the weed. “They’ve got totally different styles of playing.”

“You know Rage Against the Machine?” Niall asked, his mouth hanging open.

Liam bore a similar expression. “And Guns ‘n Roses?” 

Harry squirmed under their intent gazes, glancing toward Louis for support, who simply smiled at him and gestured for Harry to continue. “Um, yeah. Is that like, surprising or something?”

“Well, yeah, kinda,” Niall chuckled. “You don’t look like the type, really.”

“Why?” Harry inquired, genuinely curious. “Because I’m quiet and I wear glasses? Oh, and I don’t have tattoos?”

“I’m not trying to offend you or anything. That’s actually pretty cool. Louis didn’t tell us you had good taste in music.”

“I don’t have much of a taste really. It’s complicated, like… I don’t really listen to Rage much. It’s really angry, and I only listen to that kind of music when I am angry. And I’m never really angry. What I listen to depends on my mood.”

“Really? We usually just listen to whatever comes on our iPods,” Liam said with a laugh.

“Yeah. So I pretty much like everything, you know? Except pop music.” He gave a comical shiver. “That’s just rubbish.”

“Fair enough,” Niall said, nodding affirmatively. “That’s cool. So what have you been listening to lately then? Barry Manilow? Marvin Gaye?” He raised his eyebrows in a ridiculously suggestive manner, swaying from side to side in what Harry assumed was supposed to be a seductive dance.

It was so silly Harry had to laugh. The weed made it even funnier. “I’m not that weird, mate.”

When Harry averted his attention away from Niall, he noticed Zayn watching him, his expression strange yet unreadable. His dark brown eyes held something that vaguely resembled observation, but they were too dark and hooded to be able to tell. Harry swallowed nervously; he had noticed Zayn glancing at him periodically since they’d arrived, but never long enough to stand out as strange. Now, Zayn’s eyes seemed to bore into him, his scrutiny so intimidating Harry could hardly focus on anything else.

He eventually excused himself, mumbling something about needing the loo to Louis, who was too wrapped up in another argument with Liam and Niall, which Harry was too distracted to even realize the topic.

Upon exiting the bathroom, Harry was startled to find Zayn standing in front of the door, waiting for him. He let out a yelp of surprise, his breath hitching dramatically.

“Jesus, you scared me,” he gasped.

Zayn nodded indifferently, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and sticking it in his mouth. “Mind if I talk to you for a minute?”

Harry stared at him, eyes wide and wary. “What for?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to murder you. Come on.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, Harry shifting from foot to a foot, lip pulled between his teeth in anticipation, while Zayn fiddled with the cigarette between his fingers. After another minute of silence and a few heavy, impatient sighs from Harry, Zayn finally spoke.

“I know you probably think I hate you,” Zayn said matter-of-factly, lighting the cigarette dangling between his lips.

Harry shuffled awkwardly against the doorframe. “Uh, well you haven’t really been all that welcoming.”

He shrugged, pursing his lips to blow a series of thick smoke rings into the air. “Well, I never am, really.”

“Actually,” Harry added, “I think this is the most you’ve ever said to me at once.” Zayn snorted at that. There was a pause during which Harry stared at the back of Zayn’s head as he simply looked forward and smoked his cigarette in silence. After a minute or so had passed, Harry cleared his throat. “So, um, is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

The mood abruptly turned serious, Zayn spinning on his heel and tossing his half-smoked cigarette to the ground. “Look, I’m gonna cut right to the chase, all right?” Harry was startled by his sudden movement, but nonetheless nodded. “You fancy Louis, that’s pretty fucking obvious,” he said, bracing himself against the door, positioning himself in front of Harry. He opened his mouth to protest, but Zayn cut him off. “And don’t even try to deny it. Please. It’s pointless.”

Harry was amazed that even when Zayn seemed as though he was about to interrogate him, his voice still remained almost eerily calm, his face the definition of cool, calculated anonymity. “Um…”

“If that’s a denial, and this is a warning, not a suggestion, don’t finish that sentence.”

“Fine,” Harry admitted with a grunt of defeat. “I fancy him a bit.” Zayn raised his eyebrow at him, and Harry swore it was the most animated he’d ever looked. “Okay, I fancy him a lot. Is that a problem?” He folded his arms over his chest defensively and, not that he would admit it, with slight childish petulance.

“Not for me it isn’t,” he shrugged. “But it could be for you.”

Harry stared at him in bewilderment. “And why do you care?”

“I don’t. Louis can do whatever he wants, and it’s not like he ever tells us about it anyway.” He licked his lips and heaved a long sigh, staring at a space above Harry’s head. “Louis, he’s…” he said after another pause, “he’s fun to be around and stuff. He’s a laugh. But he doesn’t really have that much regard for other people’s feelings. And I can already see this,” he gestured toward Harry, “whatever the fuck is going on between you guys blowing up in his face. You seem to be getting pretty comfortable and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“What do you mean?” He asked uneasily.

“Basically what I’m trying to say is Louis isn’t gonna want to be your boyfriend. He’s not gonna hold your hand or kiss your cheek or take you to the cinema on the weekends. He’s not gonna talk about his feelings and buy you flowers and parade you about everywhere.”

Staring blankly, Harry nodded his head slowly as if processing the information, when really he was wondering why Zayn was telling him stuff he already knew. “All right… why are you telling me this?”

“Because. I know how kids like you get when you get your little hearts broken. And I’d rather not have Louis be put under the torture of you possibly stalking him and climbing the tree next to his bedroom window to recite Shakespeare in the middle of the night.”

Harry continued to stare blankly, trying to hold back a fit of laughter that was threatening to escape his throat. He failed, and was sent doubling over, his hand clutching at his stomach and laughter so hysterical it was almost silent. Zayn watched in confusion as he collected himself, catching his breath and straightening out his crinkled clothes. “Do you think I’m psycho or something?” He said, still giggling slightly. “I know I’m younger than you guys and stuff but I’m not stupid.”

Zayn scratched the back of his head, seeming surprised. “So you guys have talked about this then?”

“Not really, I kind of just figured it out on my own.”

“And you’re… okay with that?”

He considered the thought for a moment. It used to, back when he wasn’t sure what Louis wanted from him. But now that he was sure, that he knew what Louis wanted was to be friends who kissed and did other things sometimes, Harry realized there wasn’t really anything all that bad about that thought. He still got to talk to Louis, still got to touch him and kiss him and be around him. What did he have to complain about? Status didn’t really mean anything at the end of the day; if anything, it just gave everything a timeline and an end date.

“Yeah,” Harry said finally. “I’m not gonna force him to be something he’s not. And I definitely won’t turn into a psychotic stalker.”

Zayn nodded, looking him up and down as if sizing him up. He gave an approving expression. “Guess you’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

“Why’d you think that if I’m friends with one of your mates?”

“I don’t know. I just assumed he was using you, but… I guess not.” With that, he removed his hand from the door and slipped it around the knob, twisting it open and walking inside with a final glance at Harry. He left the door open for him to follow while he walked back toward the basement.

Harry stood in the doorway with a grin worthy of his hometown, his heart speeding up in his chest and butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Louis may not want to be his boyfriend, but he did like having him around, and he did like shagging him, and at that moment, that was more than enough for Harry.

*

When Harry woke up at 8 a.m. on Saturday, February 1st, far too early for one’s birthday, he came downstairs to see his mum eagerly preparing a fry-up in the kitchen. She greeted him with a warm hug and a kiss on the forehead, softly whispering, “Happy birthday” in his ear, guiding him to the breakfast table and placing a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him.

He hadn’t asked her for many gifts, unable to think of anything he really wanted. Harry found that gifts lost their novelty after a certain age; when you’re a child, you want every single toy you set your eyes on. You even want the ones you’ve never seen before. Anything goes, as long as you can throw it around and play with it without getting bored. As a teenager, you’re not as easy to please. They settled on money as a present, Anne encouraging him to go to the mall and pick out some new clothes, as he’d done quite a bit of growing in the last few months and would continue to grow even more.

When she offered to take him shopping for the day, an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Harry didn’t think he was above spending time with his mother, and he certainly wasn’t against it, but the idea of his mum taking him to the mall on his birthday to pick out some new outfits made him feel a lot younger than he was, a lot younger than 17 should entail.

If he was going to break out of the shell he had cocooned himself into for so many years, he was going to need some help. He couldn’t rely on his mum to keep him company all the time, no more than he could rely on Louis. He needed a life outside of them, and right there at the breakfast table was where he figured out how to do it.

He was going to something he’d never done before. It only seemed appropriate; he was 17 now. He was getting older. He had to start doing things for himself. It was time for to start taking matters into his own hands. He couldn’t stay shy, sheltered, meek little Harry forever. It was time for him to become the person he was meant to be.

What better day to start than his 17th birthday?

*

Harry had been texting Nick for a while since their last encounter at the music shop. Not regularly, just a few texts here and there, and he hasn’t really told him the details about him and Louis, out of fear of boring him. Despite the age difference, they got along quite well. 

He discovered that his last name was Grimshaw and his friends called him “Grimmy”, and his best friend was a bloke named Matt Fincham, who he often referred to as “Finchy”. Harry considered this quite appropriate. He was in uni studying history, although he admitted he had almost no interest in it, and hosted the school’s daily morning radio show. They had similar taste in music, preferring hipster bands that few people had ever heard of and only an ironic appreciation of pop music.

It was nice, talking to Nick, because he was never worried about making a fool out of himself or being too obvious like he was with Louis. There was a certain ease to talking to him that made Harry feel like maybe, he wasn’t a total loser. Harry had always had a cheeky sense of humour, which was often muted in Louis’ presence due to his nervousness, so talking to Nick, who was even more sarcastic and mocking than Louis, and being able to express that was a welcome change.

Although he wanted to tell Louis they had been talking a lot, and had been really making a connection, just to see how Louis would react, if he would be jealous or flippant or even angry, but Harry didn’t particularly enjoy being manipulative, and he had to admit there was a slight thrill knowing he had a friend outside of Louis who wasn’t in any way associated with him. It made Harry feel like he had a life of his own, and that was a welcome feeling.

So when Louis tells him his birthday surprise wouldn’t be till much, much later, Harry inquires as to whether or not Nick is busy, and demands with uncharacteristic assertiveness he take him to the mall. He was feeling bold. It was his birthday after all, and he was sticking to his plan.

When Nick arrived to pick him up, Harry slipped out the door hastily, shouting to his mum that he’d home in a few hours without so much as an explanation of where he was going.

“Hey twinkie,” Nick said excitedly as Harry enters the car.

Harry groaned in response. “Is it really necessary to call me that?”

“You’re just so cute,” he reaches over to pinch his cheek, “I can’t think of a more suitable nickname.”

“Anything is more suitable than that,” Harry grumbled.

Nick laughed and started the car, pulling out of Harry’s driveway and starting down the road. “So how’s it going with Billy Joe Armstrong then?”

“Huh?”

“Your punk prince charming. You haven’t mentioned him at all.”

“I don’t just spend all my time talking about him you know. I do other things,” Harry said, although it mustn’t have been very convincing as Nick raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips at him in a mocking expression. “Okay, fine, maybe I do.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Nick laughed. “That’s everyone when they’re 16.”

“17, now,” Harry clarified.

“No matter,“ he waved a dismissive hand. “So what’s the deal? When I gave you my number I’ve gotta tell you, I was expecting endless soliloquies of Shakespeare’s highest calibre.” He raised a hand to his forehead dramatically. “What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Louis is the sun.”

Harry wanted to be indignant but he couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Shut up. I’m not that desperate. And Romeo and Juliet was probably Shakespeare’s worst, honestly.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “Well, in my eyes, every single one of his plays it the worst. Anyway, enough about dead poets. So how is it then? I wanted to take the piss but you weren’t mentioning it so I thought maybe it didn’t work out. He sounded genuinely curious, which was surprising for someone who Harry observed as typically very insincere. 

“Um,” Harry said, scratching the back of his head with a chuckle. “I guess you could say it worked out.” He found himself grinning.

Nick let out an exaggerated gasp. “I know that smile! That is the smile of a sexually satisfied teenager. Did the twinkie finally get laid?”

“Well, not really,” he blushed. “But we’ve, um, we’ve done stuff.”

“Stuff?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, stuff. Stuff that’s none of your business.” He tossed him a teasing grin.

“This is my car, you know, I could easily kick your arse out and leave you stranded in the cold.”

“Fine,” Harry digressed. “Farther than kissing.”

Nick held his hand to his heart and sighed dreamily. “I almost feel… proud. Like I somehow caused this. And even if you tell me I didn’t I’m still gonna tell myself I did. Just so you know.”

“No,” he laughed. “You kind of did. He came over after I left the shop, last time I saw you. He asked me why I was with you and we started arguing and he kissed me.”

“Look at you,” Nick replied, visibly impressed. Harry grinned, finally allowing himself to bask in the glory that he had, in fact, made Louis ‘Untouchable’ Tomlinson jealous. Although Harry did dislike being manipulative, he couldn’t deny the feeling was wonderful. “Turning into such a little heartbreaker, Harold.”

“Harold?”

“Is that not your full name?”

“No. I’m just Harry.”

“Strange.” Nick shrugged. “Well, there’s your new nickname then.”

“It’s better than twinkie,” Harry acquiesced. 

By the time they made it to the mall, Nick had stopped pestering Harry for details about he and Louis’ intimate encounters, he inquired as to why the hell Harry wanted to spend his birthday at the mall in the first place.

“My mum gave me some money,” he explained as they exited the car. “Wants me to buy some new clothes.”

“Let me guess; your new wardrobe will consist of jeans so tight they chafe your balls, endless amounts of black band shirts and maybe even a stick of eyeliner to emulate your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Harry said defensively. “And I’m not trying to look like him. That’s not who I am.”

“Didn’t seem that way that time at the club.”

“That was his idea. His friends and him made me up so I’d fit in and nobody would ask for ID. I’m underage, you know.”

“Yeah,” Nick sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I found that out the hard way. Literally.”

Harry cringed at the memory. “Can we just never talk about that again? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Let’s just pretend we were both too drunk to remember.”

“Sounds good to me.”

*

The two hours they spent in the mall was taken up mostly by Harry walking in and out of stores simultaneously, complaining that there are no good clothes anywhere, and Nick groaning while trudging along. They mock the pop music that plays over the speakers, with Nick lip-syncing rather embarrassingly to a Lady Gaga song, which makes Harry both laugh and run away to avoid being seen with such a clown. Nick mumbles something about never playing this type of music on his radio show, and Harry asks him what it’s like being a host and DJ while browsing for flannel shirts.

Nick tells him it’s great, especially because he gets to share the hosting with Finchy and as such can take the piss out of him as much as he likes on air. Harry can’t help but notice the way Nick’s eyes light up when he talks about him, and wonders if he looks the same when he talks about Louis. He asks Nick if he fancies Finchy, and he scoffs and turns his nose up to the idea completely, which Harry thinks is a case of “thou doth protest too much” but doesn’t think he and Nick are close enough for him to be making such comments. Nick clearly has fewer boundaries; Harry lost count of the amount of times he referred to Louis by the half hour mark.

They ended up buying no clothes and standing in the middle of the mall’s record store for most of the trip. Nick decided to be a bastard and stuck a screamo album into one of the various music players, pulling out the headphones and turning up the volume so the song blared violently throughout the store. One of the clerks trudged over angrily and asked them what the hell they were doing, and Nick feigned innocence, claiming he simply “didn’t know how it worked” while Harry giggled helplessly behind him.

By the time they left at around half past 6, laughing hysterically as they passed a group of straggly haired teenagers trying to get away with smoking weed inside the mall, Harry found he had genuinely enjoyed himself. Nick was an extremely animated, funny guy, and there was something about his good-natured teasing that made Harry feel at ease, like he could truly be himself. He wondered why Nick would want to hang out with someone like him, and asks more out of curiosity than any real self-consciousness. 

“Are you looking for an ego boost?” Nick quipped. “Like ‘I just can’t resist your luscious curls.’” He reached down and tangled one of his hands in Harry’s hair, pulling roughly.

Harry swatted his hand away and laughed. “No, I’m just wondering, I guess. I’m barely 17 and you’re in uni.”

“In the words of the late and great Aliyah, age ain’t nothin’ but a number,” he joked, but then suddenly turned more serious. “I dunno, I guess you remind me a bit of myself when I was your age. Great comedic and leader potential, but still a bit on the shy side.”

“You were shy?” Harry gaped.

“Not quite as shy as you,” he laughed. “But I wasn’t always this vibrant, confident, sex on legs god, you know. I had to work to get like this.” He gave a dramatic pop of his hip, pretending to flip his hair.

Harry laughed loudly, so loud and obnoxious he covered his mouth with his hand, which he often did when he laughed like that. “Are you gonna teach me then?”

Nick winked at him mischievously. “Maybe that was my plan all along.”

*

They made it back to Harry’s just before 7, and Harry was pleased when Nick asked him if he’d be up for hanging out again. Harry liked Nick; he was a laugh and a lot of fun to be around, and it was nice to have a friend he wasn’t lusting after or wanking to in the shower (although he wouldn’t admit that last thing to anyone, especially not Nick).

His mum asked him where he had went when he got inside and Harry lied saying he had made a new friend at school. He hated lying to her, and found that he had been doing that a lot lately, but he didn’t exactly want to tell her he was hanging out with his 20-year-old friend Nick, as she would only ask how they met and Harry was a terrible liar, especially on the spot. She smiled and said she was happy he was expanding his circle of friends, then asked if he wanted her to stay home from her usual Friday night out to spend time with him. Harry declined, telling her Louis was coming over and he’d be in good company for the night, to which she smiled somewhat sternly and told him, “No funny business”, before ruffling his hair.

He heated himself some leftover pizza and watched a bit of TV while his mum readied herself. She wouldn’t be leaving until 10, but she liked to take long showers and spend as much time picking out her clothes and applying make-up as possible, which often resulted in her prep time clocking in at about 2 hours. When she finally finished and sat next to him at about half past 9, Harry having settled on an old James Bond movie, they shared a piece of Harry’s cake and watched the film in companionable silence.

When she finally left, Gemma called to wish him a happy birthday, apologizing for being so late. The call was brief, as she was on her way to a party, and she told him she’d be celebrating for him before ending the call with a loud, excited, “I love you!” Harry smiled fondly as he set the phone back on the receiver, and returned to the sitting room to finish the film.

While Harry was anxiously awaiting Louis and had been for most of the day, he decided he’d enjoyed his 17th immensely so far. He’d spent it with his mum, eating cake and bonding over memories and love, made a new friend, and was about to share the rest of the night with the boy who made his heart race. He was wary of what the night would entail, but since Louis had promised no sex, he was more eager in his anticipation than scared, and was willing to do anything Louis wanted to do, as long as he was there.

*

When Louis finally showed up, it was half past 12 in the morning. He was dressed in all black with a black beanie perched atop his fringe and a large rucksack over his shoulder. The contents of the bag clinked when the bag rustled, causing Harry to scratch his head in confusion. Louis simply grinned.

“What’s in the bag? And do you know what time it is?” He said with a yawn.

“I’m perfectly aware, and that’s for me to know and you to find out,” he responded, giving a mischievous smirk. “Now come on, put on some warm clothes and let’s go.”

“We’re going out?”

“You really think we’re going to be spending your birthday inside your house?”

“It’s not even my birthday anymore…”

“Whatever, so I’m a half hour late, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Now are you up for some fun or not?”

“Your idea of fun usually refers to something illegal,” Harry sighed, but nonetheless moved back inside to retrieve a sweater. He assumed the dress code was black, given Louis’ attire, although his clothes were usually black anyway. He pulled his black hoodie from out of the closet and slipped it over his head, before shoving a pair of boots on his feet.

“So what have you got planned?” Harry said as he joined Louis out front and closed the door behind him.

“A few things,” Louis said, setting the rucksack down with a clink. “But you’re gonna have to trust me, okay?”

“Why?” Harry asked hesitantly. 

“Promise you’re not gonna freak out on me?” Harry swallowed nervously. “Don’t worry,” Louis rolled his eyes. “I haven’t got a dead body or anything. Just… here.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small dime bag; when he held it front of Harry’s eyes, Harry saw two small, circular white pills through the tinted plastic.

“Pills?” He exclaimed. “You want me to take pills? No way.”

Louis seized his arm when he attempted to turn around. “Hey, hold on a minute, all right?” Harry crossed his arms and waited for an explanation. “It’s ecstasy.”

Harry’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Ecstasy?”

“Yes. I know it’s intimidating but I think you can handle it,” he said.

“Handle it? Louis, you didn’t even give me a warning!”

“I didn’t think you needed one,” he shrugged. “And I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Lou, weed is, it’s okay and all, I don’t mind that. But pills… pills are dangerous.”

“They can be, yeah, if you don’t trust the person who gives them to you. I didn’t buy these off some dirty bloke on the street, Harry,” he chuckled. “I trust my dealer. I’ve done ecstasy loads of times.”

“Well, good for you. I’m happy you’re not dead,” Harry snapped. “But I’m not so confident.”

Louis sighed heavily. “Look, Harry, I can’t force you to do it, I know that. It’s never good to force someone. But don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not about trust, Louis. It’s about consequences.”

“You’ll be with me the whole time. I’m experienced. I’m not gonna let you out of my sight. I want you to have a good experience with it.”

“How can I have a good experience if I’m scared as hell?”

“Well, then you need to be not scared.” He rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder, stepping closer. “Think about it like this; you’re with me, I know what I’m doing, I have experience with this stuff. You don’t even have to do a full pill. Half will work. I’ve known tons of people who’ve done this stuff,” he lifted the dime bag for emphasis, “and they were all fine.”

“This is beginning to sound an awful lot like peer pressure,” Harry mumbled.

Louis dropped his hand and sighed again. “I really don’t know how else to phrase it. It’s your birthday, Harry.”

“This, this isn’t me, Louis,” Harry said after a long pause. “I don’t do stuff like this.”

“Yeah, but have you done anything these past few months that you’d normally do?” Harry shook his head. “Why don’t you want to do it? Because you’re scared? Because you don‘t know what it does?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded.

Louis stepped closer again and placed both his hands on Harry’s shoulders, steadying him and lifting his head to look him in the eye. “I get that. Everybody’s like that at first. But it’s not bad. It makes you feel good. It makes you feel like you’re happy and free. You just feel things, really feel them. And you want to shout to the world how good it is.”

His voice was soft as he spoke, his grip on Harry’s shoulders gentle and reassuring. Harry was taken aback and a bit mesmerized by how gentle, almost tender Louis was being with him, like maybe he actually cared how Harry felt about the situation and was trying his hardest not to pressure him. It confused him, and it exhilarated him at the same time, and he found himself asking, “Why do you want me to do it so much?”

“Because I think for a really long time you were holding yourself back from enjoying yourself. You think too much, Harry, and yeah I guess it’s good to think about drugs before you do them, but you think way too much. You’re older now. You’re supposed to be experiencing new things. And who better to do that with than me?”

“I’m still nervous, you know,” Harry muttered, peeking up at Louis underneath his curls.

Louis smiled and leaned forward, his lips hovering over Harry’s. “I can fix that,” he whispered, closing the distance between them and kissing him. His lips were softer this time, not bruising with intent and focus as if leading up to something. This time, it was just a kiss. Harry closed his eyes as their lips parted, relaxing into Louis’ touch and letting the feeling take over him. Feeling, he thought, the word echoing around his head in Louis’ voice. Just let yourself feel.

“So what do you say?” Louis asked after pulling back.

Harry looked at him pointedly. “Why are you being so nice?”

Louis gave a choked sort of laugh. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said cautiously, “but you’re being… sweet.”

“Well,” he said with a snort, raising his eyebrows, “when you’re trying to convince someone to do something they’re nervous about doing aggression really isn’t the best tactic.” Harry shrugged, as if to say, ‘Fair enough’. “So is that a yes?”

Harry stared at him for a prolonged moment, his head buzzing as if his brain were a beehive. There was still that feeling of trepidation creeping in the pit of stomach, but there was a look, so brief it would be more accurately described as a flicker, of sincerity in Louis’ eyes Harry had seldom seen, one that indicated, you can trust me, it’s okay. So he allowed the nerves to drain from his system into a soft smile, nodding his head and pecking Louis on the lips in a gesture that said, okay, I trust you.

And Louis smiled back, opening the dime bag and dropped the pills into his hand. He placed one of them between his teeth, snapping it in half, and placing it in Harry’s open palm.

“For safety measures,” he said with a grin.

*

Harry didn’t know where Louis was taking him, as he insisted on keeping that a secret as well, and he found himself shaking in anticipation as they walked, eager not only to find out but also for the drug to kick in. They’d been walking 20 minutes and Harry still didn’t feel anything, noting with intrigue that it took much longer for it to enter his system than it did with weed.

“How long does it take to work?”

Louis shrugged. He had taken both the other pill and the half of Harry’s he’d snapped off, and didn’t appear to be feeling the effects yet either. “Usually about 45 minutes or so. It kinda hits you out of nowhere so be prepared.”

Harry nodded vigorously. “Can’t you just tell me where we’re going?” He whined. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Maybe that’s why you never have any fun,” he said with a wink. “Now hold your horses, we’ll be there soon.”

“I hate you,” Harry mumbled, kicking at the snow beneath his boots and trudging along.

*

They had reached a bridge Harry didn’t recognize by the time he was beginning to feel a buzz. His heart began to race, his hands swaying back and forth as they walked, and he began to feel a sudden urge to jump around, run, and yell at the top of his lungs. His eyes were covered by a cloudy glaze, and Louis’ figure beside him became fuzzy and blurred, distorting his facial features, eliciting an almost manic, dopey giggle from Harry.

“You all right? You feeling it?” Louis said with a chuckle.

Harry wanted to jump on his back and make him carry him around. “I think so,” he said with a wide grin.

“I can tell,” he laughed. “You’ve got your E face on.”

“Are you high?” He asked, his voice giddy and shaking with excitement.

“A bit, yeah. I’ve done it before so it’s gonna take a bit longer for it to really work. Maybe a few more minutes.”

It took Harry a moment to realize they’d stopped in the middle of the bridge. He jumped slightly when he recognized his surroundings. “Why have we stopped?” He asked, looking around.

“This is where I was taking you,” Louis grinned, slipping the rucksack off his shoulders and dropping it against the wood of the bridge.

“A wonky bridge in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well, I’m sorry it doesn’t live up to your high standards, you ungrateful bastard,” he said with teasing offence. Harry giggled. “Don’t worry, this is only part of the surprise.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Harry to focus on anything but the excitement and uninhibited joy that was radiating through his bones. His smile was vibrant but his jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together so painlessly Harry barely felt it, his body tingling with warmth despite the biting chill in the air. He watched eagerly as Louis knelt beside the rucksack and opened it slowly, pulling back the sides to allow Harry to see the contents.

That definitely explained the clinking; inside the sack were at least a dozen cans of spray paint.

“What’s all that for?” Harry grinned devilishly, his teeth still pressed together. 

“I think you can put two and two together.” Harry shook his head, still smiling like an idiot. He looked down and saw he had his arms wrapped around his torso, his nails digging into his sides. He wasn’t sure when he’d done that, or why, but he didn’t remove them, continuing to smile at Louis, waiting for him to explain. “We’re gonna turn this bridge into a bit of art project. Using the bridge as our canvas and the cans as our tools,” he said extravagantly, holding his arms out like a ballet dancer.

Harry threw back his head and let out a bark of laughter, for the reason that Louis looked absolutely ridiculous but also for no reason at all. He was just happy, joy and excitement running through his veins in a sensation that could really only be described as ecstasy.

“You’re definitely a goner, mate,” Louis said with a bright laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. Even underneath blurry eyes and the darkness of the early morning, Harry thought he looked beautiful. 

A goner for you is what he thought, but what came out was, “Can’t we get in trouble for this?”

Louis leaped forward suddenly, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and nearly sending them both doubling over. Harry laughed as he was knocked backward, gripping Louis by the waist and staring at him with bright, glossy green eyes. “You’re always worried about trouble,” he said vibrantly. “Stop worrying for once and just feel, remember?” He shook him by the shoulders. “How do you feel right now, Harry?”

Harry bit his lip, his teeth pulling his beaming smile inward. “Like I wanna jump around and set the world on fire.”

The words were uttered with innocent, dreamy earnestness, the corners of Harry’s lips lifting further upward with every syllable, and Louis matched it with a grin like the sun. He let go of Harry’s shoulders and took a step back, nodding firmly. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

Louis turned around and ran toward the rucksack, bending over and pulling out two of the cans, tossing one to Harry who caught it with a gleeful laugh.

“I don’t even know how to use this!” 

“Don’t be daft,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Take off the cap and press on the tip. It’s really not that hard. Watch!” 

Louis aimed the can toward the wooden planks, pressing his index finger the tip and shooting sporadic, patchy black paint toward the ground. He drew an ‘A’, then let go of the tip and shook it a few times, before pointing it back toward the ground and spraying a deformed, lopsided circle around the letter.

Harry laughed heartily at the result, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Shut up,” Louis scolded, but nonetheless laughed along with him. “I’m high, it’s not gonna be perfect!”

“I can’t believe you drew an anarchy symbol! You’re such a bastard!”

“Well, let’s see you come up with something better, Picasso. Go on, then,” he extended an arm, allowing Harry to move forward and find a place to spray.

He pulled the red cap off the can and stared at the wood for a moment, before shaking the can aggressively and pointing it downward. He sprayed two dots next to each other, then underneath them a shaky semi-circle which ended up looking more like a squiggly line than the smile he’d intended.

“A smiley face? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” Louis goaded, stamping his finger against the tip of the can and letting out a haphazard spray of paint. 

Harry grinned at him. “Is this a competition now?”

“You know I can’t resist a good one. Let’s say… whoever fills the bridge up faster is the winner?”

Cackling so loud he had to cover his mouth, Harry nodded in agreement. He had been smiling so long and so wide it looked as though it was painted across his face, and Harry didn’t know if he’d ever be able to stop. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he and Louis exchanged injurious grins, turning away from each other and shaking their cans to get to work. Harry started on another patch of wood, spraying an outline of what was supposed to be a cat but ended up looking more like a fuzzy ball with legs. He burst into riotous laughter, turning around to check out Louis’ progress, yelling gleefully, “I’m so bad at this!”

He moved over to Louis, his feet seeming to glide across the surface, and took sight of Louis’ art; a fist with a middle finger pointing upward along the blue railing. He had just finished filling in the knuckles when he heard Harry, laughing and glancing over toward his cat drawing.

“What the fuck is that supposed to be?”

“It was supposed to be a cat!”

He laughed even harder, covering his eyes with his wrist. “I didn’t know you were a pussy man, Harry.”

Harry gasped, smacking Louis’ shoulder roughly, causing him to actually give a whine of pain. “You dirty bastard! Is anything you say ever not rude?”

“I’d like to see you do something rude yourself,” he said with a smirk, dropping the empty can of paint and picking up another. “Now hurry up, you don’t want to fall behind!”

“Oh really?” Harry challenged. “You wanna see something rude?”

Picking up another can and approaching one of the taller railings, Harry plucked off the cap whilst shaking it, pointing it forward with a naughty smirk. The paint was blue, which wasn’t the most appropriate colour, but he continued nonetheless, drawing two circles with about 2 inches of space between them, filling the space with a tall, narrow oval. He had barely finished the final circle atop the oval when a laugh burst through his lips and he was doubling over, clutching at his sides. He could feel sweat beginning to stick his shirt to his skin.

“Did you just… did you draw a dick?” Louis asked disbelievingly, standing beside a laughing Harry. “I would say uncreative but I actually can’t believe my eyes.” He joined in with Harry’s laughter, clapping him on the back before giving his shoulder a playful shove and returning to his work.

When Harry looked up, his hysteria finally seizing, he felt an odd rush of blood to his head, a slight queasy feeling overtaking him for a moment as he struggled to regain his balance. When he looked at Louis, tossing aside another can with fervor and smiling so wide it seemed like mid-afternoon rather than almost 2 A.M., Harry was hit with a startling wave of paralyzing affection, so sudden and staggeringly intense he was frozen in place. He watched him, doe-eyed and slack-jawed, his heart visible through his clothes, the only word registering in his mind beautiful.

In that moment, Louis was uninhibited, passionate, unafraid and unaware of how he appeared to others, and Harry was so struck by the sight it wasn’t until Louis threw a can of paint at him and shouted, “Get to work, space case!” that he finally snapped out of it. He continued to watch Louis even as he painted, his face settling into a soft, fond smile that whispered, ‘I’m really glad I met you’, so quietly it resonated only with Harry.

By the time the rucksack was nearing its final can of paint, Harry had done everything from a poorly illustrated Sonic the Hedgehog, to a rather random steaming cup of Yorkshire tea. He and Louis exchanged taunts as they went along, although Harry knew he had no chance of winning, his silly little sketches no match for Louis’ surprisingly intricate symbols. Knowing full well he was going to lose, Harry eyed the nearly empty rucksack with a wicked glint in his eye, an evil idea popping into his head.

Harry smirked mischievously as he picked up the final can of paint, which was a shade of shocking magenta, glancing at the remaining free areas of the bridge before turning his focus back to Louis, who was busy spraying “FUCK YOU” in bold black along the railings. He held his left hand over his mouth to mute the giggle that was beginning to rise in his throat, using his other to lift the can in the direction of Louis’ back. His laugh escaped through his fingers as he pressed down and sprayed a thick line onto Louis’ black shirt, the sound only becoming louder as Louis turned around with a look of terror and the paint now covering Louis’ front.

“You little shit!” He yelled, lunging forward and attempting to wrestle the can from Harry’s grasp. Harry only laughed harder as he hid the can behind his back, allowing himself to be manhandled by Louis as he fought for the can. He shifted it between both of his hands, burying his head in Louis’ shoulder and relishing the feeling of his body heat. He eventually dropped the can but Louis didn’t let go, only pulling back slightly when they were both too out of breath from laughter and wrestling to continue their fight for dominance.

“Well,” Louis said breathlessly, shifting his eyes downward toward Harry’s torso, “at least you didn’t get out of this totally unscathed.”

“Huh?” Harry looked down at himself, seeing that the press of Louis’ body against his had resulted in some of the paint being smeared onto his own shirt. He found himself laughing again, the sound bright, bubbly, and so loud it seemed to echo all around them.

Louis smiled broadly and leaned forward to catch Harry’s laugh with his lips. Harry made a muffled sound of surprise before melting against him, the warmth of Louis’ face in line with his sending shocks of electricity through his body. Before he could really let himself enjoy it, he had to laugh again, the force of it breaking their lips apart.

“Wait, wait,” he said, pushing Louis away by the shoulders.

“What?”

“So who won?” He said, eyes wide with wonder.

Louis laughed airily, wrapping one arm around Harry’s waist and resting the other in his chilled yet sweaty curls. “Do you really care anymore?”

Harry attempted to pull a straight face and nod, before a childish giggle escaped his lips and blew his cover. “No, not really.”

“Me either.” They grinned, meeting each other half way in a smiling kiss that quickly grew frantic. Harry threw his arms around Louis’ neck, one of his hands resting against Louis’ cheek as Louis pressed him against the railing, which was still damp from the paint. Their hands didn’t remain in one place for too long, the energy and excitement from the drugs pumping adrenaline all throughout them and making them anything but still.

Their hands had been everywhere but each other’s dicks by the time the rain started to fall. Harry felt the gentle pressure of water dripping down his face and hands, and Louis pulled away with an exasperated curse.

“Rain? Really?” He shouted. “How fucking cliché is that?”

“Looks like you’re gonna have to take me home,” Harry said cheekily, his hands clutching at Louis’ waist.

“Looks like it,” he replied, kissing him again and detaching himself from Harry’s grip. He grabbed Harry’s hand, pulling him off the railing and dragging him along as he ran off the bridge, both stumbling and tripping over their feet as they made a mad dash for Louis’ house.

Harry couldn’t remember a single time he’d felt so alive.

*

They’d barely made it two steps into Louis’ house before Louis was on him again, using Harry’s back to close the door and pressing him against it, sucking a bruise onto his neck. Harry tipped his head back against the wood, his fingers sifting through Louis’ hair, eyes closed in absolute bliss.

“Aren’t you worried we’ll wake someone up?” He whispered, breath hitching.

Louis groaned, licking his way up Harry’s neck and nipping at upper lip. “Lottie’s at a friends,” he pressed a kiss to his jaw, “the rest are asleep,” a kiss beneath his ear, “and what did I tell you about worrying?” He met Harry’s eyes finally, his own darkened with lust.

“Right,” he said affirmatively, meeting Louis’ lips once again.

They kissed their way up the stairs, attempting to be quiet but failing miserably as they tripped up several steps, nearly tumbling over the railing and bumping into the wall several times. They muffled their laughs against each other’s mouths, hiding the more forceful ones into each other’s shoulders, both giddy and fucked up and unbelievably turned on. Harry was already hard, and from the stiffness of Louis’ crotch pressing into his, so was Louis.

Everything was feeling and sensation and body heat as Harry was pushed onto Louis’ bed, his back hitting the cool mattress with a resounding thump. Louis threw his shirt over his head, falling on top of Harry and kissing him within an instant, his hands sneaking under Harry’s shirt and brushing along his ribs. Harry was on fire, the heat of Louis’ fingertips igniting his skin and sending a shudder of static up and down his spine, their bodies flush against each other.

When Louis sat up, his knees on either side of Harry’s hips, Harry let his eyes roam across the even tan of Louis’ skin, taking in the sight of him utterly exposed. He had never seen him shirtless before, never seen the plethora of tattoos so close and clearly, despite the darkness of the room. He inspected them with catching breaths as Louis fumbled with the belt of his own jeans, taking in the details and curves of the ink that coloured his skin. His eyes were met with ones he’d never seen before; a pair of sparrows rested atop his prominent collarbones, both wearing stern expressions, painted over them so delicately Harry wanted to reach up and touch them. There was a constricting snake on his side, squeezing what appeared to be a dead bird between the curls of it’s body. The detailed, black scales of the snake’s skin drew Harry’s thoughts to the bleakness of the tattoo, and Harry sensed a deeper, poetic meaning to it, one that Louis may never reveal, but found he was too high, too lost from the heat and splendour of Louis’ touch to even ponder what it may be.

Harry ran his hands down Louis’ chest, trailing over the unfamiliar sketches which seemed to darken under the haze of his mind’s eye, pulsing and coming to life beneath his heated fingertips. They were beautiful, he was beautiful, and Harry wanted to tell him as much, but as soon as his shirt was thrown to the floor and his belt unbuckled, Louis had dropped down on top of him once again, sealing their lips together and pressing against him with bruising authority. Louis wasted no time, licking into Harry’s mouth and moving his hands downward toward Harry’s jeans. He undid the button and pulled down the zipper with expert swiftness, and Harry’s mind flashed to probably endless amount of times Louis had done this with other guys, but the thought was quickly silenced when Louis began pulling off his jeans and Harry had to buck his hips upward to allow them to be removed. 

Louis removed Harry’s shirt next, tossing it to the side and gathering Harry in his arms, pressing his lips against the heated skin of his neck. Harry moved his arms up and down Louis’ smooth biceps, his breathing growing more ragged by the second and his cock hardening even further. Harry moaned helplessly as Louis kissed him again, their lips moving together as Louis ground his hips against him. Harry pulled away with a gasp, angling his head to the side to allow Louis to bite and lick at his neck.

“Is this really happening?” He whispered, his voice breathless against the mattress. 

All he felt was Louis Louis Louis, his fingers, his mouth, his tongue, his hips, all the parts of him he’d been longing to touch for so long. His mind was reeling, everything around him spinning and turning and twisting his mind into a jumbled mess, as Louis ignored his small voice and descended down his body, licking around his nipples and taking one between his teeth. Harry cried out, gripping the mattress between his fingers and throwing his head back against the pillow.

“What do you want me to do to you?” Louis muttered as he continued to lick his way down Harry’s torso.

“Anything,” he breathed, everything around him seeming to disappear completely. Everything but Louis.

“Do you want me to touch you?” He reached into Harry’s underwear and palmed his erection gently. Harry shuddered and pulled his lip between his teeth, biting down so hard it nearly drew blood.

“Anything,” he said once again, with even more emphasis.

He opened his eyes to see Louis smirking at him, closing them when Louis pulled his underwear down until they were around his ankles, freeing his dick from it’s confines. Harry waited, bracing himself against the mattress in anticipation of Louis’ next move. He began to stroke his fingers with aching, teasing slowness just above the head, and Harry gasped at the heat and feel and the overwhelming ecstasy it sent surging through his body. His mouth fell open, his tongue swiping across his lips as his head moved from side to side.

Harry was completely unprepared when Louis suddenly removed his fingers and bent down, only registering that he had moved when he felt the wet, slick heat of Louis’ mouth around his cock.

He’d been sucked off before, and it had felt good, amazing, because how could it not? But not like this. Not so good it had him unraveling at the seams, gripping the mattress so tightly between his fists his fingers were turning white. He suspected it might have been from the drugs, not sure how they affected sexual activity but assuming it must be a lot considering how it made him feel when he wasn’t hard.

He was beginning to sweat even more, his breath releasing itself in short, hoarse gasps. He was close, so close already, even though Louis had just gotten started. After only two minutes of Louis head between his legs, warm hands running up and down his thighs and pressing against his hips, Harry released his grip on the mattress, biting his lip to stifle the strangled cry threatening to escape his mouth as he came, Louis’ mouth still around him.

As he lay there afterward, eyes closed, blissed out and fucked out and so hot and thirsty it felt like he was in a desert, he willed his breathing to return to normal, inhaling deeply through his nose. He didn’t notice Louis had left the room until he returned a few minutes later, padding into the room quietly and closing the door behind him.

“Shove over,” he whispered, and Harry obliged, shifting and turning on his side to face Louis.

“Here, drink this,” Louis said, handing him an ice cold bottle of water. “If you don’t you might get dehydrated. One of the bad things about E.”

Harry nodded and took a generous gulp of the cool liquid, moaning in pleasure as it filled his throat and relinquished his ravenous thirst. Louis took the bottle from him when he was done, taking a gulp of his own before setting it down on his bedside table.

“Thank you,” Harry said when Louis was facing him again.

“What for?”

“For all of this,” he explained, staring down at his fingers with a shy smile. “I’ve never had a birthday quite like this.”

Louis laughed softly. “Are you still high?”

“I think so,” he chuckled. “My head still feels fuzzy.”

Nodding slowly, Louis shifted closer, pressing himself above Harry and holding himself up with his palms against the mattress. “Happy birthday,” he whispered, leaning down and capturing Harry’s lips in a slow, languid kiss.

They kissed until they slept, arms thrown across each other’s bodies lazily, the blanket at their feet, and Harry swore he’d never felt so spent.

It was more worth it than he’d ever be able to describe in words.


	13. Chapter 13

Pain, ache, dizziness, confusion. That was all Harry registered when he woke up in a completely foreign place, his eyes feeling like they’d been sewn shut. He opened them carefully, scanning them around the room but finding his vision blocked by an invading, ink-covered arm. He lifted his head, ignoring the painful kink in his neck, breath hitching when he caught sight of Louis asleep against the headboard, his arms wrapped around Harry’s torso. 

With his head resting on Louis’ chest, Harry’s curls a dark wash against Louis’ skin, obscuring one of the sparrows atop Louis’ collarbone, he recalled the events of the previous night. He and Louis taking ecstasy. Spray painting the bridge. Kissing their way up the stairs of Louis’ house and falling against the soft mattress of his bed. Harry’s skin tingled as he remembered the warmth of Louis’ hands and mouth all over him, his toes curling and dick twitching at the mere memory of it. Harry was sure Louis hadn’t meant to hold him so close during the night, that it was most likely just a matter of circumstance, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to let himself enjoy it while it lasted.

He sighed contently into his skin, smiling and brushing his nose and mouth against his smooth chest. He raised his hand off the mattress, running his fingers over the sparrow adjacent to the one his head was currently covering. He kept his touch light, soft, gentle, careful not to wake Louis. His eyes zeroed in on the tattoo, inspecting the intricate details. The bird was beautiful, sketched in vibrant lines of blue and black. Its wings were splayed in flight, but it wasn’t smiling. Its brow was furrowed, beak pulled low into a frown, a slight hunch to its rounded body.

Dropping his fingers to the snake curling around his ribcage, Harry traced the outline of the sinister creature. His index finger spun in light, barely detectable circles when it reached the bird in its grasp. Harry focused hard on the tattoo, sensing a meaning he was previously unwilling to ponder. A dozen ideas swarmed around in his head, but he refused to shed light on any of them; it was Louis’ idea, his choice, and the only person who knew the meaning was him. Harry would never be so invasive as to assume, or even ask about it.

Harry absently ran his fingers up Louis’ bare arm, his eyes fluttering open and closed out of tiredness, his hand dropping when he reached Louis’ shoulder. He looked up at Louis then, craning his neck to get a good view of his face. 

His breath caught audibly in his throat.

Sleeping Louis looked a lot different than the Louis Harry had come to know. He was softer, more peaceful, the usual sharp edge of his chiselled cheekbones becoming settled, delicate. His eyes were less heavy, his lips parted rather than pulled into a thin line, his hair wild and messy above him. His piercings were still there, still clinging to his lip, his cheekbone, his eyebrow stubbornly, but somehow, maybe due to the brightness of dim light of the early morning, the metal was less harsh, less intimidating, the gentleness of his features nearly obscuring them, so they blended into a portrait of what Harry considered pure beauty.

This was Louis laid bare, without the guise of the mask he strapped over his true face every single day, unhidden from the world and unafraid of being seen, and Harry thinks, in that moment, he may have truly seen Louis for the first time. 

He thinks he’s in love.

He wants to kiss him awake. To see the light enter his eyes before he closes himself off to the world again.

So he did.

Harry lifted his head from Louis’ chest, twisting his body in his arms so he was staring down at him. His eyes trailed over Louis’ face, taking in the soft angles and delicate features before they disappeared, Harry’s fingers ghosting across Louis’ forehead and down his jaw. He took a deep breath, breathing in the courage to move forward, then finally closing the distance between them and laying his lips softly over Louis’. They parted slightly on contact, pressing down feather light, Harry’s eyelashes brushing against Louis’ cheek.

Louis made a muffled groan when Harry pulled back, removing his arms from around Harry and lifting them in a stretch. He rubbed his hand across his eyes, smudging the eyeliner he hadn’t bothered to clean off from the night before, and Harry laughed at the image, leaning down to peck his lips once again. Louis startled slightly at the contact, flinching backward and banging his head against the headboard.

“Ah, fuck!” 

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “Morning, sunshine,” he said with a saccharine smile.

“What the fuck, man, I didn’t even know you were still here,” he groaned, pressing his palms against his eyes.

“Sorry,” Harry murmured. “We kind of passed out last night. Or rather this morning.”

Louis shook his head, opening his mouth in a wide yawn. “It’s fine,” he said. “Just… be a bit more discreet next time, yeah?”

Harry’s heart soared. Next time. Next time, next time, next time. “Okay,” he smiled.

They went quiet for a minute, Louis rubbing the back of his head and making soft, sleepy sounds, while Harry tried his best not to stare like a 12-year-old with a crush. With another yawn, Louis lifted himself off the bed, in nothing but a pair of heinously tight boxer briefs. Harry enjoyed the view. 

“Where are you going?” He asked, as Louis padded toward the door.

“Shower,” Louis muttered tiredly, opening his bedroom door. 

“Oh,” Harry responded, sounding inexplicably dejected. 

There was a pause in which Louis stared at him in the doorway, eyebrows raised. “You coming?”

Harry flushed immediately. “Aren’t there… people here?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “It’s like what, half past eight? Nobody in this house is up at half 8. Now stop being lazy and get your arse out of bed,” he said with a teasing smirk, gesturing for Harry to follow.

Harry hoped his entire body hadn’t turned red as he followed him.

*

Harry wasn’t used to it, to being so completely exposed in front of somebody. He was standing in front of Louis, completely naked from head to toe, water drenching his curls and spilling down his body. Harry didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say or where to put his hands. He simply stood, hands hanging limply at his sides, quivering under Louis’ expectant gaze.

He felt his cheeks heat and turned around to hide his blush. It wasn’t that he was particularly uncomfortable or nervous around Louis anymore, rather he’d just never been totally naked standing in front of someone before. He didn’t mind being naked, really; in fact, he quite enjoyed it. He’d never admit it to anyone but often, when he was home alone, he’d walk around naked, just for the hell of it. It was fun and breezy and quite liberating. But he was always by himself, which wasn’t quite the same as being naked with other people watching.

Startled out of his reverie by a hand on his shoulder, Harry allowed himself to be turned back around, slipping slightly on the wet floor and tumbling into Louis’ arms.

“Oops,” Harry said with a laugh.

Next thing he knew they were kissing, moist lips colliding, utterly unhurried, as Louis pressed Harry against the tile of the wall. Every feeling of discomfort and insecurity was washed away under the spray of water, flowing down the drain as Harry lifted his arms to wrap around Louis’ neck, pulling him closer. Louis’ lips were wet and slick as they dragged across Harry’s, his hands sliding down his back and coming to rest against his arse.

Harry gasped into his mouth, pulling away with a smack. “Mmph, what are you doing?”

Louis laughed. Somehow, he looked even more beautiful with water dripping down his face. “What? Is that place off limits?”

Shrugging and ignoring the question, Harry pulled Louis back in, tangling his fingers in his wet hair. They kissed for a bit, until Harry’s half-hard cock was rising against Louis’ stomach, and Louis moved his arms from around Harry’s waist to grasp it sharply in his hand. Harry moaned into Louis’ mouth, his erection growing at the simple touch.

Louis detached their lips carefully, dragging his mouth down his jaw to nip at his neck as he slowly began to stroke Harry’s cock. Harry’s forehead dropped against Louis’ head, his breath releasing itself in short spurts into Louis’ hair. When Louis gripped it harder, his strokes becoming faster and more persistent, Harry’s head lolled backwards as a soft moan escaped his mouth, before falling against Louis’ shoulder. Feeling a bit cheeky, he sunk his teeth in, eliciting a soft gasp and a laugh from Louis.

He pressed hard kisses against Harry’s neck and jaw. “Feeling bold, are we?”

Harry moaned, both intimidated and extremely turned on by the huskiness of Louis’ voice, and gripped his strong shoulder blades tightly. “Why…” he breathed against his skin, water dripping down his face and into his mouth. “Why can’t I touch you?”

“You can,” Louis replied matter-of-factly. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, angling his head to breathe into Harry’s ear, “You just have a lot to learn first.”

The warmth and tickle of Louis’ hot breath was nearly enough to send Harry over the edge. He managed to steady himself, his toes curling and nails digging into Louis’ soft skin. Louis’ pumps grew even harder and faster, Harry’s eyes squeezing shut as he edged closer and closer. 

What Louis did next caught Harry completely off-guard, sending him into a frenzy of overwhelming feeling and sensation. 

He dragged his free hand across Harry’s wet back, his fingers slowly creeping downward toward his arse. Harry was so far gone he could barely feel it, too lost in the stroke of Louis’ hand around his cock to notice. Louis hoisted Harry up slightly so his ear was against Louis’ mouth, his fingers moving further down to rest against Harry’s hole.

“Are you ready?” He whispered, and Harry groaned in response. “Good.” Then, Louis slowly nudged a finger in, the water passable in place of lube, moving it around slightly as he continued to jerk Harry off. Harry gave a strangled cry, burying his head in Louis’ neck and spilling over his hand, collapsing against Louis with a shudder. Louis caught him with two arms around his torso, grinning and licking his damp neck as he came undone.

“Holy fuck,” Harry breathed raggedly as he started to recover, pulling back and resting against the cool tile. Louis followed him, rinsing his sticky fingers under the water. He reached forward and pulled Harry in by the back of his neck, slotting their lips together and dragging his fingers through his soaking hair. Harry whined softly into his mouth, once again bringing his arms up to wrap around his neck. 

“You’ve gotta teach me that one sometime.”

They dressed quickly, Harry not-so-subtly ogling Louis’ arse as he bent over to retrieve his trousers from the floor and giggling when Louis caught his eyes. Louis didn’t bother to dry his hair, instead throwing a tattered black beanie over his still damp fringe, while Harry used a large towel to vigorously mop his curls. Louis informed him it was likely nobody would be awake at the time, and they could probably sneak out after eating some breakfast.

When they descended the stairs and padded quietly into the kitchen, they were met with the realization that Louis was mistaken. Sitting at the counter, cigarette in one hand and cup of coffee in the other, was a man, hair greying slightly at the roots, a bit of a beer belly protruding from his swanky red robe. Louis rolled his eyes and groaned when he saw him; Harry figured it must be his step-dad, or rather, his mum’s boyfriend, a technicality Louis was always sure to clarify. 

Harry didn’t know much about the man, other than the fact that Louis hated him. Louis didn’t talk about his life very much, or at all, really, which was quite annoying, but Harry understood it wasn’t really any of his business, so he didn’t let it bother him. He could tell when the two locked eyes, their pupils darkening and eyes mirroring glares of disdain, that the hatred was mutual.

“Oh, joy,” Louis said as they entered the kitchen. “Of course you’d be awake at this hour.” Harry’s gaze shifted between them awkwardly.

The man scoffed, outing his cigarette in the ashtray and taking a sip of his coffee. “Not one of your best quips, Louis, I’m afraid I’m a bit disappointed.” He turned his attention to Harry now, looking him up and down, his mouth twisted in distaste. “And who’s this then? Your newest trick? Never knew you were into schoolboys.”

There was something about the curve of his lips and the accusation in his voice that made something in Harry give way. His eyebrows narrowed, and before Louis could muster a retort, Harry was saying, “I’m no schoolboy, sir. I’m 17. And I’m no trick either. My name is Harry and that is what I like to be called.”

The man’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Louis looked over at him with a smile that held something like pride. It vanished within a second, however, a true blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, and his eyes returned to the man in front of them. “Harry, this is Seamus, the latest in my mum’s long line of disposable boyfriends. He doesn’t like gay boys, you may want to stand back as far as possible so you don’t infect him with your queerness.”

The man - Seamus - rolled his eyes with a sarcastic chuckle. “You’re always so quick to assume the worst of me.”

“Hard not to when you make it so easy.”

“You know, Louis,” Seamus said, rising from his chair and adjusting the belt of his robe, “if you actually thought about why I see you the way I do instead of just assuming it has to do with some unspoken homophobia, maybe you’d be a bit more understanding.” He gave a tight, curt smile, and moved around the counter to fill his coffee mug. 

Louis was practically seething next to him. Harry watched nervously as Louis’ fists clenched against his sides and his teeth gnawed through his chapped lips. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” Seamus digressed with a shrug of his shoulders, “but I know what your priorities are.” He retrieved his re-filled mug from the table top and walked around again, this time stopping in front of Louis, their bodies uncomfortably close. Harry gulped. “Need I remind you what happened the last time you brought one of your tricks here? I think you showed your true colours then.”

Harry’s eyes flickered between them helplessly. They continued to stare each other down. Louis raised his fist for a moment and Harry was sure he was going to hit him, his eyes blazing with anger and hatred, but he dropped it as quickly as he’d lifted it, spitting, “Fuck you”, in his face and storming down the hall. Harry was at a loss for words; he stared at Seamus for a moment, like a deer in the headlights, then tore down the hall after Louis.

Louis was already out the door when he caught up, a lit cigarette already between his lips, storming onto the street and kicking snow and slush in his wake.

“Hey!” Harry called, standing at the end of the driveway. “What’s wrong? Why are you so angry?”

“Oh, I don't know, Harry,” Louis yelled back, halting his stride to face Harry, “I did just finish a conversation with the bane of my existence, I'm afraid I'm rather upset my dog died."

"So you’re upset then?”

"Upset, pissed, angry, whatever, does it really fucking matter?" Louis began to walk away, stalking off into the street and flicking the ashes from his cigarette aggressively.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Harry asked, jogging after him.

"What is there to talk about? He's a dick, he doesn't like me, I don't like him, we fight every time we talk, I'd happily bash his brains in with a bat, there, conversation over."

“That kind of attitude isn‘t going to get you anywhere, you know."

“You’re right,” Louis chuckled bitterly, “good thing I plan on staying exactly where I am.”

"Look, Harry," Louis said shortly, turning around to face Harry and throwing his arms in front of him, "just because I sucked you off last night doesn't make you entitled to know anything about me."

The words stung Harry's heart with the venom of a yellow jacket and paralyzed him to the spot, his throat and chest constricting so tightly it felt like he was being suffocated. His bottom lip curled inward, his teeth pressing hard into the chapped flesh. Louis was facing away from him again, and when he turned around and caught wind of Harry's pained expression, his face fell into uncharacteristic softness, his eyes dropping to his feet.

"I'm sorry..." Louis mumbled. "That was harsh."

"No," Harry said, attempting to hide the choke of hurt that strained his voice, "you're right. You don't owe me anything. I should've already known that." He wanted to walk away, to make a dramatic exist with a flip of his hair and sway of his hip, but found he couldn't will his feet to lift from the spot he felt glued onto.

Louis groaned in frustration. "Don't fucking do that. Don't try to make me feel guilty."

Harry's head sprang upward so quickly his neck may have snapped off at a different angle. The hurt previously occupying his chest and twisting his gut was replaced with searing anger and aggravation, his soft green eyes darkening to a rich emerald, brows furrowing in a thick arch atop his forehead. "Guilty? What does feeling guilty have to do with anything? I know you think I'm just some dumb kid who doesn't know anything..."

"I never said you were dumb," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Sometimes I think you think everyone is dumb. And maybe everyone is but I'm not!" He wanted to yell in his face, to grip him by the shoulders and shake him until he admitted he felt something, but found he still couldn't move from where he stood, the anger building up inside him and further rooting him to the spot. "You pretend that nothing ever affects you, like you're invincible and you just don't give a shit, and maybe people believe you but I don't."

"You know, Harry, if I wanted to see a shrink, I'd probably go to someone with a few more qualifications..."

"And then you do that! You get all sarcastic and shit. Are you ever sincere about anything?"

"Haven't we had this conversation before? I seem to recall you getting massively drunk and shouting at me that I need to be more honest or sincere or whatever. See, this is why I hate talking to people. It's the same shit over and over."

"Oh, is that it? You just hate people?"

"Know what?" Louis said with a bitter chuckle. "I liked you better when you didn't say much."

Harry's mouth fell open in shock, his white-knuckled fists unclenching and falling limp against his thighs. He suddenly regretted ever meeting Louis Tomlinson, too angry and annoyed and done to even be hurt by his words. "Fuck you. I’m not some little toy you get to play around with. And you’re not fucking invincible,” he seethed, turning to storm off.

He made it about 6 long, passionate strides when he heard Louis' voice calling to him. "I'm a fuck-up, okay?" Harry whirled around to see Louis with his arms up in defeat. "Is that what you want to hear? That I'm a fucking emotional cripple? Will that help you sleep better at night?"

There was a long pause, the only noise the sound of cold, harsh wind rustling around them. "I thought you didn't want me to talk," Harry said, beginning to take careful steps toward him.

"Don't be a smartarse. It doesn't suit you."

"Neither does doing ecstasy and spray painting a bridge and getting jerked off in a shower but you don't have any problems with me doing that." Louis rolled his eyes, kicking at the snow beneath his feet. "Look, Louis... I get that you don't like talking about that stuff. Nobody does. And I'm not expecting you to tell me everything. But you can't leave me completely in the dark. I'm not like you and you know that."

"What does that even mean?"

"I know I'm not your boyfriend, and I'm okay with that. Really, I am. Normally I wouldn't be but... I like you. A lot. Even though I'm not your boyfriend I'm still your friend. And friends tell each other shit. I've told you shit but you never do the same for me." There was another pause, during which they both stared at the ground and let the heavy silence build. When Harry finally spoke, it was through tight lips and grinding teeth. "Did you mean it, when you said you liked it better when I didn't say much?"

Louis snorted, wiping his nose on his sleeve and shrugging his shoulders. "It was certainly easier."

Deciding to focus on what was left unsaid rather than the words that escaped his lips, Harry interpreted that as a no. There was a certain slouch in his posture, a more prominent flutter of his eyelashes, that gave Louis a certain vulnerability Harry couldn't help but relish in. It may have been the absence of eyeliner as well, as the smudged, inky black of the make-up often obscured his eyes and closed them, creating a sort of shield that blocked his eyes from the world. Without the war paint, Harry could see the sparkling blue shine lustrously, wondering why anyone would ever want to hide something so beautiful.

Harry sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Can you tell me something, Louis? Just this one thing. And I'll leave you alone." Louis said nothing, staring distantly with his head turned away from Harry, fiddling with the piercing around his lip. Harry pressed on anyway. "Why do you let what Seamus says bother you so much? You always say you don't give a fuck what people think about you, especially people you don't like, so why would what he says bother you?"

Louis winced, as if Harry had uncovered his darkest, most kept secret and exposed it to all of London. "It doesn't..." He began to mumble before Harry interrupted him.

"You pretty much ran out of the kitchen."

He turned away from Harry, shoving his hands in his pockets and sighing heavily. "If I'd known you could be this persistent," he said with a humourless chuckle, "I would've never had my way with you."

Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling. "I guess you're getting to know me a little bit as well."

It was quiet for a long time. Louis' back remained facing Harry, and Harry made no move to approach him. He knew this would be hard for Louis, and he was willing to give him the space he needed to come clean. Harry didn't speak, unwilling to pressure him or make this any more difficult than it already was. He could be assertive, but he was compassionate at heart.

When Louis finally spoke, he didn't turn around, and he kept his voice even. "I don't care about anything, really. Not much does affect me, despite what you may think. Except my family." He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, cupping his hand around the flame of his lighter to sustain it, and sitting down on a far-away curb, his wrist resting on his knee. Harry sat next to him, watching his face which Louis kept carefully blank. Louis' eyes were trained forward when he continued. "I'm not gonna pretend they mean nothing to me. But... I was a really bad kid for a while." He scratched his nose with one hand, taking a drag with another. He offered the cigarette to Harry, who thought about it for a moment before taking it and inhaling a small drag, then passed it back. "I mean, I still am, I guess. But I was like... really, really bad. I was doing like, every drug you could ever name. More than you ever could. Except PCP. And heroine. Fuck that."

He glanced at Harry briefly, his eyes flickering across his face as if searching for any sign of judgement, but Harry showed none, simply nodding at him in encouragement to continue.

"I brought a lot of guys home. Now I don't, really, I just go to their place, or we go to the back room or the bathroom..." Harry swallowed at the thought of Louis continuing to have sex with other guys since he started hooking up with Harry, and attempted to bury the anxiety rising in his chest by reminding himself he had no claim on Louis; he wasn't his boyfriend, nor had they agreed to be exclusive. It didn't help much, but he continued to listen anyway. "Anyways, I was fucking around with this guy for a while. We weren't like... a thing or anything. He was in this metal band me and the lads met at a rave, and I was only 17 so I just thought that was like, so cool, you know?"

Harry didn't understand what any of this had to do with Louis' family, or his relationship with them, but he figured it would come eventually, so he continued to listen intently, his eyes never leaving Louis' face.

“Anyway,” he continued through a cloud of smoke, “he got me into cocaine. I said I’d never do it but he offered so I was like, why not? So I was into that for a while. Didn’t spend much time at home, either crashed with one of the lads or with him.” He kept his voice passive and his eyes focused ahead, as if to shield Harry from reading his mind. Harry thought maybe he was worried he’d look to him and be met with disappointment. Harry didn’t bat an eyelash.

“So this one night I was supposed to be looking after the twins but I forgot. Lottie and Fizzy were at summer camp, so I had to be the one to do it. But yeah, I forgot, and I was with him most of the night, doing lines and stuff. I brought him back to ours, and my mum was already out the door when we got there, said she was already running late.” 

To any regular person hearing the story, Harry thought, watching Louis, they’d say his expression stayed the same the entire time he was telling it. But as usual, Harry noticed things people didn’t, noticed the subtle, slightly pained crease of Louis’ brow that formed as the story progressed, the way he exhaled the smoke of his cigarette in a thin, strained line. If Harry hadn’t already suspected the story wouldn’t end well, the small changes in Louis’ face would’ve been worth a thousand words. 

“I should’ve told him to go home,” he continued after a pause, “but I didn’t. I let him in anyway. We were so fucked up.” He laughed bitterly, an ugly, hateful sound. “I told him we should find the girls first, but he didn’t want to wait. Said he was too horny.” There was the crease again; its weariness made Louis appear so much older. Harry shifted closer, and Louis flinched slightly when Harry pressed his nails into his arm.

“We went upstairs, and I started to suck him off. I could barely see straight. My head was like, complete static. But I did hear the door open, and of fucking course got paranoid as hell,” he spat the words, as if he was ashamed to be saying them. Harry got the feeling he really was. Then, abruptly, his face turned blank, the look in his eyes fading from shame and anger to bleak apathy. “Turns out we’d left the door open, and Daisy and Phoebe had walked out. Onto the street,” he explained simply, his voice monotone and lifeless. “There was a car coming around the corner. If I’d gotten there any later they would’ve both been hit.”

He stared at his feet when he finished speaking, shaking his head and spitting at the space between his shoes. Harry was struck. In that moment, what felt like thousands of different emotions were exploding in his chest, but not one of those feelings was shame. The slant of his eyes and part of his lips conveyed sympathy, not judgement. Louis bore this burden every day, the guilt of remembering his stupid, youthful mistake that could have cost him the lives of those dearest to him. It shattered Harry’s heart, and he wanted to hold Louis, run his fingers through his hair and kiss his cheek, tell him, ‘It was just a mistake. You can forgive yourself.’

That was why Seamus’ words got to him so much, because they played off of Louis’ guilt. Harry’s heart broke all over again.

"So you're not disgusted with me now? Not gonna run away because of how terrible a person I am?" Louis said after a lengthy silence, finally meeting Harry’s eyes.

Harry frowned, his brow creasing with worry while his eyes glistened with sympathy. "No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "You made a mistake, Louis. You were young and stupid."

"That doesn't excuse the fact that I did it, does it?" Louis snapped, practically shouting the words in Harry’s face.

"No, it doesn't. It still happened, but... I mean, you clearly feel awful about it. I can see that. I mean, that’s enough evidence right there that you're not a terrible person, isn't it?"

Louis stared at him, his expression unreadable. "So that's it? You’re not gonna judge me? Not gonna hold it against me and never let me forget it like everyone else does?”

Harry gave a sad laugh and shook his head. “’Course not. It’s pointless and it’s not gonna get us anywhere. You’re allowed to fuck up, Louis. Not everyone is gonna hate you for it.”

“But you can’t deny it’s my fault. You just can’t.”

“No, of course not,” Harry said with a shrug. “It definitely was. I’m not denying that. But it’s not like you meant for it to happen. It’s not like you meant to leave the door open and have them walk out. You made a mistake,” he emphasized. “You can either dwell on it, maybe try to place the blame on other people. Or you can learn from it. And forgive yourself. It’ll never be something you look back and laugh on, but you can look back and not hate yourself.” 

Louis looked at him for a moment, his expression as blank and difficult to read as usual, before turning his attention to his cigarette, which had long since burnt out, and tossing it on the road. He turned back to Harry, and looked at him so imploringly it felt he was staring right through him. It made Harry feel very obvious. “When did you become like, fucking Yoda or something?”

Harry gave a hysterical sort of laugh. “I don‘t know. Guess I‘ve always had the potential. 

“Right,” Louis said with a slight nod, looking away again.

A silence stretched between them, and Harry chewed on his lower lip, eyes trained on Louis as he tried to figure out what to say.“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and standing up. He dusted himself off and turned to face Louis, who remained sitting. “I think I should get home. My mum doesn’t really know where I am, she may think I’ve been murdered.” Louis nodded in response, pushing himself off the curb and standing in front of Harry. “So I guess I’ll mmph -”

Before Harry could, finish Louis was pulling him in by his lapels, pressing his lips hard against Harry’s. His eyes remained wide in surprise, until Louis parted his lips, his tongue flicking between Harry’s, and he fell pliant against him. He clutched at the front of Louis’ jacket as the kiss grew a bit messier, a haze of slick tongue and smacking lips, and, when Louis pulled back, Harry’s breathing was ragged, his cheeks even rosier.

“What was that for?” Harry asked, echoing what Louis had previously asked him once before.

Louis shrugged, staring at his torso and playing with his lapels a bit. “Just felt like it.”

“Okay,” he breathed, his mouth fighting against the blinding smile threatening to take over his whole face. The battle turned out to be futile.

“All right, lover boy,” Louis said with a smirk. “Go on home to mummy now.” He tapped Harry on the cheek, brushing past him to make his way back to his house.

Harry beamed at his retreating figure. The smile didn’t leave his face even as he entered his house and found himself met with a furious, hysterical mother, hounding him about his whereabouts.

His smile didn’t even fade when she told him he was grounded for the next week.

Judging by the look on his face, one would think she’d told him there were a dozen pink cupcakes waiting for him in his room, rather than a seven-day punishment. 

*

A few weeks later, when Harry was officially ungrounded and spring was approaching ever so slowly, Harry met up with Nick again, who asked him to help him make cupcakes for his friend Aimee’s birthday. Harry accepted with delight; he had always enjoyed baking and hadn’t had the chance to do so in a long while. It always relaxed him, helped clear his thoughts and put him in a more serene mood; he found he baked most when he was in some sort of crisis. Fortunately, he hadn’t had a crisis in quite some time, and things with Louis were going more smoothly than ever before.

“He actually opened up to me,” Harry said, measuring two cups of flour and passing it through the sifter carefully. “He sat down, and he told me something about himself. I can count the number of times that’s happened before on one finger!”

Nick placed a carton of eggs and a bag of sugar in front of Harry and laughed. “Alert the media,” he deadpanned, moving toward the still open fridge and retrieving the milk.

“Do you not understand how big that is?”

“Oh, it’s huge,” Nick replied, rolling his eyes. “What’s next, a musical number?”

Harry glared at him, staring daggers into his forehead as he measured a cup of sugar without taking his eyes off of Nick. “Aren’t you supposed to like, be supportive? Tell me you’re happy for me?”

“Happy for you?” He chortled. “Christ, Harry, it’s not like he got down on one knee and asked you to be his boyfriend. Although I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Nick explained, turning around the counter to stand next to Harry and looking down at him, “I think you’re out of your element, Harold.” He gave him a wan smile and removed the measuring cup from his hands.

“Out of my element?” Harry said, scratching the back of his head.

Nick swatted his hand away. “Hey, no touching your hair, we’re in the kitchen. God, aren’t you a baker? You should know that.” His voice was playful and teasing, but Harry muttered a quiet, ‘Sorry’, anyway. “Look, Harry, I know you like him. Probably even fancy yourself in love with him.” Harry swallowed nervously but made no comment, keeping his eyes trained on the marble counter. “But if you ask me, I think you two are way too different to be doing… whatever it is you’re doing.”

Harry watched Nick’s hands as he sifted a generous amount of cocoa powder into the bowl. “How do you figure?”

“Well,” Nick sighed, adding a teaspoon of baking powder. “He’s obviously, ahem, not really the relationship type. More of a ‘fuck it and chuck it’ kinda bloke.”

“Yeah,” Harry cut in defensively, “but he hasn’t done that with me. We haven’t even had sex yet.”

“That’s true,” Nick pointed a wooden spoon at him, “but, ask yourself this: do you want him to be your boyfriend?”

Harry’s head snapped upward. “He’s not -”

“Yeah, I know he’s not, but do you want him to be?”

“I -,” Harry hesitated.

“You don’t have to lie, you know. I already know the answer.”

Reaching over, pulling the bowl in front of him and grabbing an egg with his free hand, Harry sighed. He stared into the bowl, cracking the egg expertly with one hand. He began to stir as he spoke. “Of course I do. Who doesn’t want the bloke they fancy to be their boyfriend?” 

He motioned for Nick to add another egg. “And you know Louis doesn’t want that and you can’t…”

“Of course I know Louis doesn’t want that!” Harry borderline shouted. “I’ve known that since the day I met him. I’m not some stupid kid, you know. I was never expecting him to change for me. And I know him opening up isn’t a sign that he will. That doesn’t mean it’s not a good thing.”

Nick looked at him imploringly. “Let me ask you something. Do you think he cares about you?”

Harry paused for a moment, seizing his stirring and staring forward thoughtfully. The pause lasted about a minute until he finally said, “Yeah. I do. He never pressures me to do anything. He hasn’t pressured me to have sex. Why would he be so patient if he didn’t like me at all?” He looked back at Nick, who nodded in consideration. “He may not be good at showing it, but he has his reasons. I’m smart enough to get that. And I do.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I can’t even tell you how much he’s helped me. I’m less nervous now; I can actually be the person I want to be. And I don’t know if I could have done it without him.”

“What?” Nick replied skeptically. “Become a sexually active stoner who sneaks out at night and spray paints bridges?”

“No,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Someone who’s not afraid to take risks and does things because they want to, not because it’s expected of them. That’s the person I want to be. And he makes me feel like I can be that person. He doesn’t judge me because of how I look.” He sighed, once again dropping the spoon against the side of the bowl. “I just want to be around him. That’s it. I don’t care what we call it, as long as I get to be with him.” He looked up at Nick with a gentle, earnest smile.

“Wow,” Nick said, his voice light and airy. “You know, if that wasn’t so bloody twisted, that could actually qualify as the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up,” Harry said, suppressing a grin.

“Still,” he added, leaning against the counter with one hand behind his back, “I think you can do a lot better.”

Harry was taken aback by the statement, his eyes widening and cheeks flushing as Nick looked down at him with a soft smile. He was prepared to say something, opening his mouth to ask, ‘what do you mean?’, but he didn’t miss the way Nick’s eyes darkened with mischief, the corners of his mouth twitching suspiciously, and should’ve been prepared for the flour that was then flicked in his face, flying into his open mouth and coating his fluttering eyelashes like snow. He should’ve known; Nick couldn’t be sincere for more than a few minutes at a time.

“You bastard!” Harry cried, reaching around Nick to grab a handful of his own.

Nick held his hands up in defence. “Now, Harry, think about what you’re doing. This is my mum’s kitchen, you don’t want -,” and boom. There was flour all over his face, in his hair, falling onto the floor like dandruff. “You’re gonna pay for that. Nobody messes with my flawless complexion and gets away with it.”

The cupcakes didn’t make it to the pan for another twenty minutes, and they almost ended up on the floor on the way to the oven as Nick nearly fell on his arse after slipping on a patch of flour. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline left over from the flour battle or just pure optimism, but he felt good about the conversation. He wanted to be taken seriously, not seen as some naïve, love-sick puppy; he knew what he wanted, and he knew what Louis wanted from him.

And he didn’t owe anybody an explanation. 

*

February rolled into March and March rolled into April, and Harry was hit with the realization that it had been 8 months since he’d met Louis. 8 entire months since his life had changed so quickly and so drastically he barely had time to process it. He hadn’t known it was possible for just one person to do that, but he supposed there were a lot of things he didn’t know before Louis.

For the first time in his life, Harry actually had friends. Friends he could have fun with, friends he could talk to and joke around with. Nick was busy a lot with uni and his radio show, but they still texted whenever they could, and Nick had even offered to have him on the show as a guest. 

After he’d finally made peace with Zayn, Harry felt a lot more comfortable hanging around with Louis and his friends, smoking weed and talking about music, and after a few weeks finally felt like he actually fit in. They stopped looking at him as Louis’ boytoy and began seeing him as Harry, just another one of their friends, the kid with the quirky personality and energy that could be at different moments both manic and subdued, and Harry had finally felt what he’d been longing to feel for as long as he could remember: accepted.

He attended most of their gigs, which were few and far between but always stellar, and Harry continued to attend in punk disguise, if only because it seemed to turn Louis on seeing Harry dressed in tight black clothing and eyeliner, judging by the way he sunk his teeth into his neck extra hard when they onto Harry’s bed afterward. He also discovered more about them as people; he found out that Liam had been with his girlfriend, Danielle, for almost two years, and she was the only girl he’d ever had sex with, which Louis gave him endless shit about. He learned that Zayn had an on-and-off ‘friends-with-benefits’ agreement with a girl named Perrie, who wanted to make things official but scared Zayn slightly with her clinginess. One particularly interesting thing he discovered was that Niall was not only a drummer but also a DJ, and that if things with the band didn’t work out, he wanted to be a music producer.

Most importantly, he learned that he really liked them. They had been a bit hard to please at first, but Harry got the impression that one needed to prove themselves before they were given the chance to be accepted, and Harry hoped he’d done himself justice. Judging by the way they greeted him with a grin and a slap on the back, and the way they teased him and wiggled their eyebrows suggestively when he sat too close to Louis, it seemed he had, and for that Harry was both grateful and extremely proud.

While Harry’s relationship with Louis’ friends gradually grew, developed, and improved, he and Louis stayed mostly the same. Harry was still head-over-heels, and Louis was perhaps a bit less aloof but nonetheless still quite guarded, and their arrangement continued to work despite the very strange circumstances. To the uninitiated, it would appear they were in a relationship. They went out together, laughed together, smoked pot together, argued together, did just about everything worth noting together. And for whatever reason, despite their strikingly different personalities and outlooks, they managed to work.

Other people may have been confused about the nature of their relationship, but Harry wasn’t. Some people, namely Nick and Gemma, seemed to think otherwise, but Harry knew where they stood, and he was okay with it. He was willing to take whatever Louis was willing to give, and while that may have seemed unfair, it truly didn’t bother Harry. Regardless of labels, regardless of status, all Harry wanted at the end of the day was Louis, and at that moment, he had him.

They didn’t hold hands, they didn’t kiss hello or goodbye, and they didn’t lie awake at night cuddling against each other professing their love underneath the moonlight. But that was okay, because there were always other things to do, new things to experience, new feelings to explore.

And Harry was finally letting himself enjoy it.

*

The first time Harry blew Louis was in the middle of a field in May.

It was a Saturday night. They’d just gotten quite spectacularly stoned and watched the latest James Bond movie at the cinema, not-so-sneakily smoking joints outside the door before going in. When the film was over, they left the cinema in a fit of giggles, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders for support, and discovered they’d missed the bus. Still too stoned to even care, they wandered about for fiften minutes, finally stumbling upon a wide, vacant field and collapsing in the middle of it after a sudden wave of fatigue hit them both.

Harry sighed as he fell against the cool grass, staring up at the dark, yet vividly bright night sky with wide eyes. Louis yawned next to him. “Hey Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever stop to think, like” he said, his voice slow and drowsy, “how any of this is possible? Like how we’re even here and living? And how amazing that is? Like, the world is so beautiful and mysterious and everyone takes it for granted.”

Louis turned his head toward Harry and laughed, a slow, lazy sound. “Oh, god. You’re that kind of stoned.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know”, he said, pulling two cigarettes from his pocket and tossing one at Harry, who picked it up and looked at it as if it was a foreign object from outer space. “The kind of stoned where you start getting all scatter-brained and philosophical.” He placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it, throwing the lighter onto Harry’s chest. 

Harry still wasn’t a big smoker, but he did have one every now and again when Louis offered. He’d come to find he didn’t really mind them too much; the taste was bitter but not unbearable, and they did have a certain relaxing effect. He lit it and took a quick drag. “I mean it though,” he said, blowing out a small cloud of smoke. “Like do you ever just look around and think… holy fuck, I’m alive. The earth is spinning. How is that possible?”

When Harry looked over at Louis, he appeared to be holding back a smile, but it was futile, as it soon escaped his lips and he burst into hysterical laughter.

“Stop laughing at me!” Harry protested, but he found he was laughing as well.

“I’m surprised this has never happened before. Back when me and the lads first started, we had this conversation about how life was actually really short, and we multiplied the number of days in a year by the number of years in the average lifespan. And then we got really freaked out.” Louis’ face changed then, his smile replaced with a more reflective, nostalgic expression. “I miss those days sometimes,” he said with a sigh.

“What does?” Harry asked, shifting onto his side to look down at Louis and elevating himself with a hand under his chin.

“Back when everything was new, I guess. When things were actually experiences instead of just routine. I was a different person then.”

“In what way?” Harry urged him to continue, completely taken aback by this sudden expression of honesty from Louis. He wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“I looked forward to things more, I guess,” he said with a shrug. “It was before my parents got divorced. Before I realized how shit everything really was.” Louis seemed to realize what he was saying, clearing his throat, while Harry felt he was in the middle of a revelation. “I don’t, that -”

Before Louis could brush off what he had just said as unimportant or cautiously change the subject, Harry surged downward and covered Louis’ lips with his, pressing a hand to his chest and crawling on top of him. Louis made a muffled sound of surprise but responded immediately, his hands moving to grasp Harry’s head and tug at his curls.

“What are you doing?” Louis murmured against his mouth.

Harry pecked his lips over and over again, dragging them down his chin and dusting kisses along his jaw line. “I want to show you,” he breathed, kissing him again.

“Show me what?” He ran his hands down Harry’s back until his fingers were digging into his hips.

“I want to show you what I see,” he said into his neck. “Not everything is shit.” He pressed a kiss there, then moved to kiss his mouth. “There are beautiful things. There are still things you haven’t seen. And they’re beautiful.” He wanted to whisper “you’re beautiful”, breathe it into his ear until he finally believed it, but something made him hold back, so he kissed him.

“You wanna show me something?” Louis whispered as their lips parted, his voice low and dirty. Harry nodded vigorously. He grabbed Harry’s hand and manoeuvred it downward toward his crotch. “Show me,” he hissed through his teeth.

Harry nodded once again, his eyes wide and mouth pressed in a tight line. Louis rarely let Harry touch him; he liked to be the one in charge, so any time Harry was offered the chance, he took it without question. He wanted to make Louis feel good, and even though he wanted to make him feel good in ways that didn’t involve sex, Louis wasn’t always willing to hear it. So Harry took what he could get and kissed him desperately, fumbling as he undid the belt of his jeans and pulled them past his hips.

Louis ran his tongue along the roof of Harry’s mouth, his fingers buried deep in his hair and tugging him further downward. “God,” he gasped into his mouth, Harry’s lips parting in a low moan. “Your mouth is insane.” He lowered his mouth to Harry’s ear and nipped at the lobe, muttering, “Show me what it can do.”

The low, rough quality to Louis’ voice sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He peered cautiously at Louis’ erection peeking through his underwear, timidly reaching down to pull them down his thighs. “I’ve never done this before,” he whispered, although Louis surely already knew.

Louis dragged him upward by the neck and crushed their mouths together once more before saying into his ear, “Use your imagination.”

Feeling suddenly determined, Harry dropped down onto Louis and moved downward until his head was between his thighs. He kissed the tan flesh, using his hand to stroke his cock. He gave a sigh of pleasure, cupping the back of Harry’s neck, his other hand resting under his head. Harry licked his lips, shifting to wrap his mouth around Louis finally. He was careful not to bare his teeth, steadying himself with a hand on Louis’ hip. It cast aside when Louis bucked his hips forward, his hand still cradling Harry’s neck.

Harry kept his movements slow and steady at first, carefully dragging his wet lips back and forth as if he was sucking on a popsicle. He pulled back every minute or so to moisten them, to ensure they didn’t go dry and chafe the sensitive skin. Louis carded his fingers through Harry’s hair, his fingers digging into his scalp and pushing him, albeit gently, further onto his cock. Harry obliged, going down willingly and hollowing his cheeks, pulling off with a soft pop.

Louis’ grunts were quiet and subdued, and Harry began to worry he wasn’t good enough, so he licked his lips and slid his tongue across the head and up the shaft, eliciting a deep, satisfied groan from Louis. Harry pressed on, his pulls still slow and calculated, and Louis fisted his fingers tighter in his hair, which was growing sweaty from exertion. Harry’s eyes flickered upward and he peered at Louis from underneath his eyelashes; he couldn’t see his face from the angle, but he could see his head was lolled to the side, his mouth open and tongue peeking out through his lips.

Giving head wasn’t one of the greatest feelings in the world; it was a bit tiring, made Harry’s neck ache, and occasionally made him feel he could easily choke, but Harry found himself enjoying the ragged groans they brought out of Louis, finding the pleasure in the simple fact that it was him who was making him feel so good. He smiled around Louis’ cock, pulling a bit faster and running his hands along his hips.

“Fuck,” Louis said hoarsely, “your mouth…”

Louis had made quite a few comments about Harry’s mouth in the past, and although Harry thought it probably shouldn’t make him feel smug, it did. Louis was attracted to him, Louis wanted him. That was a thought that hadn’t quite sunk in, even though it had been five whole months since Louis had first thrown him against a wall and kissed him passionately. Harry still couldn’t believe he’d finally gotten him. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

When Louis finally came, Harry forced himself to swallow the bitter, salty liquid, grimacing slightly at the wonky taste, and rolled off of Louis to lie next to him once again. Louis laid, there breathing raggedly for a few moments, one hand covering his eyes, the other still resting beneath his head. Harry rolled his head to the side and smiled as he watched him come down from his orgasm, a strange feeling of pride running through his veins and settling in his stomach. Louis met his eyes and smiled back, a breathy laugh escaping his lips.

As Harry leant down and kissed him, he thought that maybe that wasn’t what he had in mind when he’d told Louis he wanted to show him what he saw. But what if Louis letting Harry touch him was his way of letting him in, to make up for the ways he couldn’t or wouldn’t, and maybe that was a milestone in and of itself.

When they caught the next bus a bit later, Louis didn’t protest when Harry dropped his head onto his shoulder, nuzzling the crook of his neck as his tired eyes fell shut.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought as he let sleep overtake him, that was just as big of a milestone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to take a turn, no? Let me know what you all think of the goings-on! I love to hear what you guys think :) If you have any questions, you can contact me on Tumblr; my URL is stylinpixie. Thank you all for reading and giving feedback!


	14. Chapter 14

 Any opportunity to get out of his house was never lost on Louis, even if the events weren’t of any interest to him. Louis hated his home most of the time. Daily events usually consisted of his mum and Lottie yelling at each other over the latest troubling situation she’d managed to get herself in (the last of which involved snogging a boy with her bedroom door open), Fizzy locked up in her room Skyping with her friends and refusing to come out and, well, Seamus’ general presence. Louis wanted to be there for his family, to help them with whatever they needed, but it was extremely hard to do when they refused to accept it.

His attempts to convince his mum to kick Seamus to the curb fell on deaf ears. Lottie was just becoming a teenager, so any attempt to reason with her would be ultimately futile, and it wasn’t like Louis didn’t understand her rebellion. Fizzy, on the other hand, was somewhat of an escapist; 10 years old and far too mature for her young age, she preferred to drown out the negativity and dysfunction that plagued their family with a shut door and deafening music. Louis couldn’t even really blame her.

So he preferred to stay away. The lads rarely ever came over; the only person he had over on a regular basis was Harry and that was just to shag late at night, really. Most of his time was spent at Zayn’s or Niall’s, listening to music, burning, trying to ignore the things he didn’t want to deal with. It made him feel like a selfish prick, but that wasn’t a particularly new feeling. He was used to it.

On nights like this, when his mum and Seamus laid cuddled on the couch pretending to be a normal couple, with Lottie out with her friends, Fizzy in her room, and the twins in bed, Louis would look for any excuse to get out, and thankfully there is always something to do. Unfortunately, tonight, the only real option was “music night” at Zayn’s, which Louis typically hated.

Music night was basically a very lame party in which all of the lads’ musically talented friends came over to jam and perform and shoot the shit. It used to be a blast, back when Louis was still in the band, before most of their friends grew out of the punk phase and left for university. Now, it was always packed with Niall and Liam’s high school friends or hipster douchebags from Zayn’s job at the music shop. Maybe Louis was just picky, or biased, but these days he hardly ever spotted a single punk or metalhead. 

Deciding to bring Harry along - in case he got bored early and wanted to go for a shag somewhere (Zayn’s bed was quite comfortable), Louis attended out of sheer lack of other options, spending most of the night secluded on a couch in the corner of the basement, sucking lovebites onto Harry’s skin as the bland, banal music droned in the background.

They were surrounded by emos and goths, teenage girls with too much eyeliner and runny mascara bopping along to Top 40 pop songs that made Louis’ ears bleed. As one girl, a pretty, pixie-like brunette who Louis believed was named Cindy - he wasn’t quite sure - belted out a rather horrendous rendition of Carrie Underwood’s ‘Before He Cheats’, Louis whispered into Harry’s ear that the only reason she and her friends were there was so Niall and Zayn could get laid. Harry snorted loudly and remarked that this was the strangest group of people he’d ever seen; Louis was inclined to agree. There were people in every corner, each fitting their own unique stereotype; goths, preps, stoners, hippies, party girls, and, somehow, Niall managed to chat up multiple girls from each little clique. It was amazing, really, the power of Niall’s persuasion skills. He wasn’t nearly as attractive as Zayn, in Louis’ eyes, yet somehow he managed to pull a lot more successfully. Girls found that the spell cast by Zayn’s brooding, bad-boy poutiness tended to wear off after about 15 minutes, especially the times he forgot their names, which happened far more than Zayn would ever admit. 

Harry seemed quite content making out in the corner, blissfully unaware of the claustrophobia-inducing amount of people in the basement, in their own little world as Harry hummed into Louis’ mouth and Louis stroked his fingers under Harry’s shirt. They ignored the occasional ‘Get a room!’ tossed in their direction by Liam, which elicited the strangest little giggle from Harry that Louis would never, ever call adorable, until their attention was drawn to the centre of the room by a loud, booming voice shouting into the mic.

“All right, pansies, time for mama Cher to show you how it’s done.”

Louis rolled his eyes, while Harry’s widened in recognition. “I remember her!” Harry said, his arms still wrapped around Louis’ neck. “She was the one crying into my shoulder about her boyfriend or something, that first time at Niall’s.”

“You mean her boyfriend of the week,” Louis replied, glancing at Cher as she adjusted the mic stand to benefit her short stature. “People around town call her ‘Boy Toy Lloyd’. She really gets around.”

Harry grinned, craning his neck to take a good look at her. “I can see why. She’s quite gorgeous.”

“Excuse me,” Louis said with an offended gasp, grasping Harry’s chin between his fingers and turning his face toward him. “May I remind you who you’re straddling right now?”

The music started suddenly and Harry shifted off Louis’ lap, turning around to get a better view of Cher. Louis pouted grumpily, scowling at Harry who simply shrugged and muttered “I wanna see it.”

Cher, always one for theatrics, was wearing her trademark short-shorts, a pair of short leather boots and a ratty white tank top, her lips painted a vibrant crimson. She truly was a performer and, although Louis wasn’t particularly a fan of her music taste, she did have a gift, that of which he could not deny. She cleared her throat as the music started, the speakers blaring out a rather obnoxious techno beat while a deep voice chanted ‘Hey, hey, hey, hey’ in the background. Louis groaned, jokingly burying his face in Harry’s shoulder, who swatted him away with a laugh and a slap on the shoulder.

_Stomp, stomp, I’ve arrived_

_Drop the beat, nasty face,_

_Why you lookin’ at me?_

_Flyin’, flyin’, flyin’, flyin’ through the sky_

_In my spaceship I’m an alien tonight_

 

The song, which Harry informed him was ‘Do It Like a Dude’ by Jessie J, was horrendous, but Cher performed it with her typical aggressive vigour, stomping her feet, shaking her hips, grabbing her crotch (‘We can do it like a brother, do it like a dude, grab my crotch wear my hat low like you’), seducing the audience with the sway of her curvy figure and the snarl of her full lips. There was no doubt in Louis’ mind she really was made for this; powerful voice, authoritative, commanding stage presence and a killer set of legs and sex appeal. She was a star in the making.

While Louis was only fairly entertained, Harry appeared almost mesmerized, eyes tracking the movement of her hips and hands like a hunter ready to shoot his prey. Louis raised an eyebrow, leaning over to ask if she was starting to turn him straight. Harry merely shook his head, never tearing his eyes away for a second as he leaned toward Louis and said matter-of-factly “She’s incredible.” Louis chuckled when Harry began clapping outlandishly, after Cher had finished her performance with a grin and a fist pump, until a sudden idea struck him and he was pushing himself off the couch, rushing toward the mic stand before the next greedy bird could stake her claim on it.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked lowly as Louis sprinted to the centre of the room.

Smirking at him, Louis tossed a wink in his direction. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, inflating his voice with the enthusiasm of a sports announcer, “we’ve got a new face here tonight and he’s eager to show off his considerable talent to you lot of judgmental bastards, and I’d like it if you’d give him a round of applause, as he’s quite shy.” Louis glanced over at Harry, whose eyes widened as the words continued to flow from Louis’ mouth. “Give it up for Harry Styles!”

The crowd remained indifferent, apart from Harry who was mouthing “No, no, no”, over and over until Louis physically lifted him by the arm and dragged him to the centre of the room. He pressed his body against Harry’s and leaned in, mouth at his ear, whispering “You’re never gonna get anywhere in life if you don’t step outside your comfort zone a little,” while reaching into Harry’s pocket and pulling out his iPod. He stepped back a bit, taking in Harry’s face which he read as a mixture of nervous and apprehensive. He leaned back in, and, against much of his reserve, brushed a light kiss to his cheek. “I know you can do it, come on.”

Harry’s mouth twisted slightly and he turned to survey the room, taking in the majority of the patron’s apathetic chit-chatting amongst themselves and the girls gratuitously re-applying their lip gloss, before turning back to Louis and giving a hesitant nod. Louis grinned, giving him a pat on the shoulder and looking down to search through Harry’s iPod. Most of the music he’d never heard of, until he stumbled across the most perfect song for Harry he could have ever found, and excitedly rushed to attach it to the speakers.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me what it is?” Harry exclaimed, turning toward Louis frantically.

“You’ll know when you hear it,” he said with a grin. “Trust me.”

He hit the play button, then moved backward to sit on the couch and observe Harry. He swallowed nervously as the music began to play, scanning his eyes around the room anxiously before a slow smile tugged at his lips when the main riff started.

“You shit,” he said, choking out a laugh, and Louis gave him an exaggerated wink and thumbs-up, encouraging him to continue.

Letting out a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes, counting to 4 silently before the first verse of the song began.

_One way or another_

_I’m gonna find ya_

_I’m gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha_

 

His movements were somewhat stiff, his voice slightly shaky and arms hanging limply at his sides. He glanced at Louis every few words, raising his eyebrows as if expecting a prompt, and Louis simply raised his palms upward, hoping to indicate ‘Raise the bar, show them what you’re made of.’ Harry’s voice was good, and perfect for this sort of song; he just needed to let go of his inhibitions for his talent to truly soar.

_One way or another_

_I’m gonna win ya_

_I’m gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha_

_One way or another_

_I’m gonna see ya_

_I’m gonna meetcha meetcha meetcha meetcha_

 

A wolf-whistle was heard from another corner of the room and Louis peered around a crowd of people to see Niall, with his arm around the pixie-haired brunette, yelling “Come on, Harry!” Liam and Zayn joined in next, clapping and giving harmonious shouts of approval. A grin broke out on Harry’s face and laughter erupted in his voice as he continued to sing:

_One day, maybe next week_

_I’m gonna meetcha, I’m gonna meetcha_

_I’ll meetcha_

 

The approval from the boys seemed to instil some more confidence into Harry as, with a beaming smile in Louis’ direction, he then tore the mic from the stand and seemed to abandon his hesitations, bending forward and crooning diabolically into the mic, a sparkling, mischievous glint glazing over his eyes as they traced the crowd. 

_I will drive past your house_

_And if the lights are all out_

_I’ll see who’s around_

 

His smile seemed to have become permanently etched onto his face, never disappearing as his voice grew louder and the words suddenly became infused with passion and forcefulness. Louis’ face lit up like a light bulb as he watched him, his eyes shining with what he refused to refer to as pride, but undoubtedly was. If Harry was a butterfly, he would have just shed his cocoon, and the metaphor was so ridiculous Louis almost hit himself, but he was so engrossed in Harry he couldn’t take his eyes away long enough to do it; the kid was good. He swayed from side to side as if he’d been doing it for years, on a brightly lit stage with guitar players behind him, a drum set in the background and 100 fans banging their heads and pumping their fists before him. How was this the same kid who looked as if he was about to wee himself just a few minutes ago?

_One way or another_

_I’m gonna see ya_

_I’m gonna meetcha meetcha meetcha meetcha_

_One day, maybe next week_

_I’m gonna meetcha, I’ll meetcha_

 

The crowd seemed moderately into it; the girls in particular staring up at Harry with hearts in their eyes and stars around their heads. The rest bobbed their heads along to the music half-heartedly, their faces pulled into expressions of modest appreciation at best. Niall appeared to be Harry’s biggest fan, shouting and whistling and being a general nuisance, but Harry ate it up, smiling and blushing and broadening the sway of his hips.

It was Louis’ turn to be mesmerized.

_And if the lights are all out_

_I’ll follow your bus downtown_

_See who’s hanging out_

 

Louis’ eyes trailed up and down Harry’s long, lithe figure, mapping out the curves and points of his narrow hips as they pulsated from side to side, filling Louis’ mind with dozens of filthy images that went straight to his cock, blurring his vision and causing his stomach to lurch slightly. He watched with thinly-veiled lust as Harry turned away from him, sauntering forward in a line, his arse swinging back and forth in plain view, before turning back around, grin still firmly in place. Louis was so slack-jawed in his eye he felt the need to lift his hand to his chin to ensure he wasn’t foaming at the mouth.

As the song drew to a close, Harry’s voice became naughtier; his eyelids drooping lower, his movements liquid and velvety, dripping like honey.

_I’ll walk down the mall_

_Stand over by the wall_

_Where I can see it all_

_Find out who you call_

_Lead you to the supermarket checkout_

_Some specials and rat food, get lost in the crowd_

 

Harry finished with a loud, laboured exhale of breath, his chest heaving and eyes sparkling, looking astonishingly pleased with himself. But what Louis saw was not arrogance; it was simply happiness, joy that he had done something he wouldn’t normally do, that he had managed to escape his comfort zone and come out victorious. He continued to beam as Niall threw an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a side hug, patting Harry’s back and gushing about how brilliant he was.

Louis remained where he was seated, still a bit floored by the intensity and conviction behind Harry’s performance and, truthfully, more than slightly turned on. Harry appeared to be moving toward him now, after gleefully accepting his accolades from Liam and even Zayn, but was suddenly stopped by Cher, who grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a corner of the room to talk. Louis decided it was the perfect time for a cigarette break.

Louis snuck outside while Harry conversed with Cher and would admit to no one that the real reason he was out there was not because he was craving a fag, but rather to cool off, as Harry’s performance got him a little more riled up than he was expecting. He hadn’t imagined Harry would get so into it, hadn’t expected him to swing his hips like a fucking stripper and practically give head to the mic while jerking it off at the same time. Just when Louis thought he had Harry all figured out, he went and did something like this, and Louis would have a very hard time convincing anyone it wasn’t a huge turn-on for him.

He was lighting up when Zayn exited the house and stood next to him, reaching over to take the lighter from Louis’ hands and light his own cigarette. They nodded at each other in greeting and smoked in comfortable silence for a few moments, until Zayn cleared his throat and spoke up.

“That was an interesting performance in there,” he said, glancing at Louis out of the corner of his eye. “Harry, I mean.”

Louis smirked devilishly, hiding it behind his raised hand as he took a drag. “Yeah,” he said through a cloud of smoke. “He’s not always as, ahem, shy as he looks.”

“He was actually really good, I mean. Didn’t think he had it in him, you know?”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“He’s not a bad kid, actually. I may have been… a little hard on him. He’s not… a total pansy, I guess.”

“Oh, my,” Louis said with a sigh, “Harry’ll be delighted to hear that; thinks you hate his guts.”

“Does he still?” Zayn chuckled.

“Dunno. Was a bit intimidated by you at first but I’d say it’s all right now.”

Zayn nodded in response and there was another short pause as they both took long, slow drags, releasing the smoke in unison. “He’s been around a while now, yeah? What’s that all about?”

With his eyebrows furrowing and shoulders tensing, Louis turned to face Zayn, his expression all harsh accusation and armoured defence. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno,” Zayn said with a shrug. “Have you fucked him yet?”

The question was nonchalant, completely matter-of-fact, as if Zayn was a mother asking her kid if they’d taken out the trash yet. Louis was taken aback. “Uh, what?”

“It’s a simple question that requires a yes or no answer.”

“Fuck off with the sarcasm, all right, that’s my job,” Louis grumbled, turning away from Zayn and taking a short drag. “And no, I haven’t.” He looked over to see Zayn grinning at him and rolled his eyes. “What the fuck are you smiling at?”

“Nothing,” he replied, holding back a chuckle. “Just a bit strange is all.”

“What is?” Louis asked, genuinely curious. Zayn seemed to find something very amusing and Louis was quite interested to find out what exactly that was.

“Well,” Zayn started, turning to face Louis and leaning against the railing of the front steps, “this whole… situation or whatever you wanna call it is a bit weird to begin with, but like, I don’t know.” He turned away again. “Usually, if you were doing this with someone, you would’ve fucked them by now. How long has it been anyway? Like 6 months?”

“I haven’t kept track,” Louis mumbled, as if that made it somehow easier to explain, keeping his eyes trained forward.

“I just think it’s weird you guys haven’t fucked yet. Isn’t that what you do when you’re shagging someone? Fuck? Waiting to do it kinda makes it sound like -”

“Don’t,” Louis demanded, snapping his eyes away from the street ahead of him and turning to stare daggers at Zayn, “finish that sentence.”

“Relax, mate,” he defended, holding his hands up. “I’m not saying you are, just saying that’s what it sounds like. It’s not really a bad thing, you know.”

Louis rolled his eyes once again. He knew as soon as Zayn mentioned Harry’s performance there was an agenda behind the conversation and Zayn would, as he always did, stick his nose in where it didn’t belong. He wasn’t as obnoxious about it as Niall, or as clueless as Liam, but he still had his moments of nosiness, moments where Louis wasn’t very fond of him. They always tended to get a bit too curious, especially in regards to who he happened to be fucking at the time, for Louis’ liking. Why did there have to be a meaning to every single thing, or person, he did?

“Well, thanks for the reassurance, mate, but there’s really nothing to reassure. He told me he wants to wait. Till he’s ready, or whatever.”

He clearly didn’t want to be questioned, but Zayn had never particularly cared about what Louis wanted. He smirked at him knowingly, as if he figured something out that Louis wasn’t saying, and it kind of made Louis want to punch him in the mouth. “All right,” he said smugly. “Fair enough.” He continued to smirk around his cigarette.

“What are you smirking at?” Louis spat, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it with the bottom of his shoe.

“Nothing,” he said, his smirk slowly spreading into a shit-eating grin.

“You’re a twat,” he said, stomping up the steps and leaving Zayn alone on the porch. He heard the faint sound of laughter as he closed the door and headed back into the basement.

Zayn could think whatever he wanted. Louis didn’t care. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. Not to Harry, not to himself and especially not to Zayn, who, for all intents and purposes, had been dating a girl for 8 months but was too much of a coward to ask her to be his girlfriend, and ended up being dumped because he fucked too many other girls when she thought they were ‘finally exclusive’. That definitely required some sort of explanation.

Louis was in the fortunate position of not having to explain himself and he would continuously remind himself of that, remind himself that there was simply nothing to explain and nothing to justify.

And he believed it.

*

He found Harry with Cher, phone in his hand, appearing to be exchanging numbers. He approached as Cher leaned forward to give Harry a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek, before bouncing off toward her friends.

“What was that all about?” Louis asked.

Harry turned around with a wide smile. “You’ll never believe what just happened.”

“She propositioned you for sex?”

“No!” He protested, grabbing Louis by the arm and pulling him to a less crowded area of the room. “She wants me to sing with her. Like, actually perform. On a stage.”

“Oh, well that sounds lovely,” Louis said sarcastically.

Harry didn’t appear to pick up on it, continuing to smile blissfully as if he was a 16-year-old girl who’d just gotten asked to the spring dance by the bloke she’d been crushing on. It was quite funny, in fact, as it contrasted so heavily with the way he’d practically mouth-fucked the microphone just moments before. “Yeah! There’s this thing at school. I don’t know I think it’s like a talent show or something… but yeah she wants me to sing with her! Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Harry, that’s brilliant.” It really didn’t sound amazing at all, really, as anything involving school was an automatic drag  which Louis had zero interest in, but there was something infectious about Harry’s enthusiasm that made it difficult for Louis not to smile back. He was also horny; that was a definite factor in his agreement. 

“Will you come, Lou?” Louis tilted his head to the side sceptically, opening his mouth to respond. Harry shushed him with a finger to his lips. “I know you hate school, and I know you don’t like being there, but come on! I’m really excited about it, and at the very least you’ll get to see me make a fool out of myself and laugh about it.”

“I don’t know, Harry, you were pretty bloody good. What I saw up there was not a fool,” he told him, because it was the truth. He had been good, plain and simple, and there was no shame in telling him that.

A deep pink blush rose in Harry’s cheeks and he bit back a smile. God, Louis really needed his mouth on him as soon as possible. “You really think so?” Louis nodded. “So you’ll come then? Please? I’ll do whatever you want. I promise.”

And Louis said yes, because there was no way he’d risk upsetting Harry and missing out on a good shag, as he was still worked up and half-hard and he didn’t want to end the night with a silly, half-assed wank. Although, he thought, since when was Harry his end-all-be-all when it came to sex? He never had trouble getting laid before, but he could count the number of people he’d fucked since hooking up with Harry on two fingers. And he and Harry hadn’t even fucked yet.

There was something about that thought that he really didn’t like, and it made me stomach churn, an unpleasant, unsettling feeling beginning to rise in his chest, but he elected to brush it off as meaningless, as he always did.

It was just easier that way.

*

“You’re being really secretive, you know,” Louis said, narrowing his eyes toward Harry who grinned brightly in response.

Harry was sprawled across Louis’ bed, lying flat on his back and sifting through one of Louis’ music history books, while Louis lifted weights in the centre of his room. He’d neglected working out for a while, and although he wasn’t particularly vain, he liked to keep in shape and maintaining tone in his upper arms and biceps were his main priority. Harry seemed to enjoy watching him, beaming up at him like a little minx, his hands perched under his chin. Christ, he was practically purring.

“I know,” he said, tossing the book aside and flipping over onto his stomach, lifting his legs behind him and swinging them back and forth. “That’s what makes it fun, innit?”

“Knowing you it’ll probably be some bloody number from ‘Swan Lake’ or something.”

“No!” Harry barked out a loud laugh. “Have you forgotten who I’m working with?”

Louis nodded in recognition. “Right. Cher Lloyd, school harlot.”

Harry laughed again, loud and boyish and vibrant. Louis couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face at the appearance of Harry’s youthful, deep-set dimples. “She’s not that bad. She’s actually really, really nice. I think her reputation is just shit, to be honest.” That was Harry, always seeing the best in people. Louis wondered how long Harry could get away with it before it finally bit him in the arse. 

“I’ve known her a lot longer than you have,” Louis said with a snort, “and trust me, she’s gotten around.” Not that Louis judged her for it. He was quite the harlot himself, if harlot could be classified as a unisex term.

“No matter,” Harry shrugged. “I like her.”

“Oh, god,” Louis gasped, dropping his hand against his hip, the weight he was lifting crashing into his thigh. “Don’t tell me she’s converted you!”

“Oh, piss off.” He threw a pillow at Louis, aiming for his face, which Louis knocked away with the other weight. “She’s really… fiery!” He said enthusiastically, shaking his arms about for emphasis. “I’m having a hard time keeping up with her.”

“Well, I’ll be shaking in my boots until I find out what exactly you two are doing.” He placed the weights on the floor and reached for the towel resting near Harry’s head, using it to wipe the gathering perspiration from his forehead. Louis caught Harry staring at his arms, eyes trailing down, lip pulled between his teeth, and smirked behind the towel.

“You are coming, right?” Harry asked when Louis threw the towel onto his legs and lifted the weights from the ground.

Louis shrugged, grunting as he raised his arms, re-adjusting to the weights once again. “I suppose I could squeeze it into my schedule, although I warn you, it’s been very tight lately.”

“Louis…”

“All right,” he scoffed. “Yes, I’m coming to the fucking show. Calm your damn hormones, even though I’m sure it’s quite hard to at your young age.”

Harry’s smile was radiant, but there was an aura of mischief lurking behind his glassy green eyes. “You’d know all about that wouldn’t you?” Louis gaped at him and Harry let out another bark of laughter., turning to lie on his back again.

“Cheeky,” he accused, his mouth widening into a grin along with Harry’s. He dropped the weights onto the floor with a thump, moving toward the bed to mount it and straddle Harry’s hips. “I saw you watching me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry feigned ignorance, fluttering his eyelashes like an innocent schoolgirl, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. That was new.

Louis threw off his sweaty shirt, glancing down at Harry‘s crotch as he threw the material to the side. He grinned when he noticed the growing bulge and reached over to palm him through his jeans. Harry gave a short, soft gasp. “You’re hard.”

He grabbed Louis’ hand as it pressed against his cock, dropping their tangled fingers against the mattress. “You might wanna save your energy. Not sure you’re gonna be able to contain yourself after I’m done next week.”

The smile that spread across his features somehow managed to be both naughty and innocuous all at once, and Louis found himself in awe, once again, of Harry’s sudden, inexplicable boldness. “So are you getting off on me working out, or the fact that you’re teasing me?”

Harry shrugged, his grin only growing broader. “Maybe both.”

“God, who are you?” Louis said hoarsely, leaning down to capture Harry’s mouth in a vicious little kiss that ended up being more bite than anything else.

This was definitely not what he signed up for when he set out to corrupt Harry Styles.

And yet, somehow he wasn’t complaining.

*

“You’re not gonna tell me what it is, are you?” Louis said as he led Harry to the front door, after giving Harry what must have been a pretty fantastic blowjob, given the way he plastered his hands over his mouth to mute his antsy shouts. Louis was still smirking with smug pride.

Harry turned around, a wicked grin dancing along his face, a certain naughtiness in his eyes that contrasted starkly with the rather dorky glasses rested atop his nose. “No,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh. His cheeks were still flushed deep pink from his orgasm, and Louis wanted to fuck him against the door. “That would ruin the surprise wouldn’t it?” He ran a finger down Louis’ chest, his grin widening when Louis grabbed his wrist and pressed him into the door.

“When did you become such a tease?” Louis said in a low voice, pinning Harry’s arms behind his head and breathing against his mouth.

“I learned from the best,” Harry said, his dirty grin melting into a smile so sweet and saccharine it could rot a tooth.

Louis released a ragged breath. God, who even is this kid? He let go of Harry’s arms and wrapped his own around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him against him and pressing their mouths together in a heated kiss. Harry gave a soft moan of approval and fell pliant against him, tangling his fingers in Louis’ sweaty hair and opening his mouth to allow Louis to slip his tongue inside. They stayed that way for a few moments, arms wrapped around each other, faces pressed close together, barely a centimetre of space between them, kissing slow and deep and wet. Louis tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted and turned, the jolts of electricity that shot through his arms and legs, instead focusing on the heat of Harry’s tongue and the length of his cock pressing against his jeans.

It was interesting, and interesting was the only word he would allow himself to use to describe it, that kissing someone he’d kissed so many times before could still feel this good, still feel so new even after so much time. Louis was one to get bored with people easily. He never had enough patience to really get to know someone or even give a shit about them.

When he pulled back and caught sight of Harry’s face, his cheeks flushed even rosier, full lips parted and swollen, his eyes a sparkling, vibrant emerald, he had to kiss him again, to bury the uncomfortable feeling that rose in his chest. He didn’t recognize the feeling, couldn’t put his finger on what it was, nor did he want to. Louis wasn’t one to analyze or think about things; he wasn’t good at it anyway, and he planned to keep it that way, so he slid a thigh between Harry’s legs and continued to lick into his mouth, because that was something he knew how to do.

“Mmph,” Harry mumbled, detaching their lips with a loud smack. He let out a breathy laugh, his mouth shining and red. “I should,” he breathed, voice shaky and uneven, “I should go now. Cher wants me over to practice.”

Their bodies were still pressed flush together and Louis could feel Harry’s erratic heartbeat against his chest. He gave him an affirmative nod, his own breath slightly laboured, and removed his arms from Harry, reaching around him to open the door and let him out. Harry gave him another beaming smile and waved goodbye, jumping off the front step and practically bouncing down the street.

As Louis watched him walk off, his mouth twisted and eyes narrowed in thought, he found himself feeling somewhat mystified. There he was, standing in his doorway, watching some kid leave his house. A kid with a smile too big for his face and ridiculous fucking dimples and a bright-eyed earnestness too pure for such an ugly world, who occupied his space and smoked his weed and looked at him not like he was the spawn of Satan, but like he was an actual human being, and somehow it didn’t bother him. Harry’s optimism wasn’t annoying, or cloying, or even child-like, he was coming to realize. In fact, it was almost refreshing.

Louis had gotten used to Harry, in the months he’d come to know him. He couldn’t quite figure out what had happened or why, but somehow, Harry had managed to prove himself to Louis. When he chose to let loose and stop worrying so much, he was actually rather fun to be around. He wasn’t wholly the naïve, innocent cherub he appeared to be; there was something naughty and wild lurking behind the twinkle of his deep green eyes, but that still held an almost startling purity Louis couldn’t quite figure out. He could never be referred to as a mystery, as he was far too earnest, but somehow Harry continued to surprise him even after nearly 8 months of knowing each other. 

A particularly vivid image of Harry swinging his hips and belting, ‘I’m gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha’ slid into his mind, and Louis had to force himself to hide the grin spreading across his features, curling his lips inward and dropping his head. He found it hard to comprehend how someone so typically bashful and timid could turn out a performance like that; slinky, aggressive, almost sexy. 

Those were the ways in which Harry’s ever-evolving personality continuously surprised him.

Louis found it irresistibly alluring, and he didn’t owe anyone, not himself or Harry, a reason as to why.

“Who was that?” He heard a voice call as he shut the door. He turned around to see Lottie approaching him from the kitchen, chewing on a peanut butter sandwich, lips pulled into a coy smirk. 

“Where are mum and the girls?” Avoiding the question never really worked with Lottie, but he supposed it could buy him enough time to forge up an answer.

She grinned as he walked past her, heading for the kitchen. “Don’t evade the question.” She licked a bit of peanut butter off her index finger, still smirking. “She took Fiz and the twins to the dentist.”

“Why didn’t you go?” He asked, opening the fridge to inspect for food.

“Didn’t want to. They’re my teeth, I can ruin ‘em if I want.”

Louis frowned at her. “If this is your attempt at teenage rebellion, you’re doing a pretty shite job of it. Don’t take after me unless you’re gonna do it the right way.”

Rolling her eyes, she propped herself up on the counter, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her fist. “So who was he then?” She asked, fluttering her dark, thick lashes, which Louis suspected were false.

It hadn’t taken very long at all and Louis still didn’t have a very good answer. “A mate of mine,” he said with a shrug, sighing as he shut the fridge which was, as per usual, glaringly lacking in junk food.

Lottie snorted obnoxiously. “A mate? Do you get that cozy with all your mates then? I don’t recall seeing you or Zayn…”

“You know, I don’t really like this whole rebellion thing,” he said, leaning atop the counter using his elbows. “It’s turning you into an even bigger smartarse than me.” He shook his head, “No, scratch that, you couldn’t be a bigger one than me even if you tried.”

“Quit avoiding the question,” she said, flashing him a grin.

“There’s nothing to avoid.”

“He’s really cute. I like his hair. It’s nice and curly.”

Louis narrowed his eyebrows. “Don’t get any ideas,” he said, pushing himself off the counter and pointing his finger at her.

“So there is something to avoid then.” She let out a dramatic gasp, covering her mouth with her hands. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Are you an 800 pound sumo wrestler named Sato?” He said, pursing his lips sarcastically. “Didn’t think so. I was snogging him, I wasn’t holding his hand and stroking his curls and whispering about what makes him beautiful.”

“Well, do you want to?”

“Ugh,” Louis groaned, pulling at his hair in exasperation. “This subject needs to be dropped. Now. All right, speaking of snogging… what’s this I hear about you bringing a boy into your room the other week?” He placed his hands on his hips, leaning forward like a stern mother.

Lottie rolled her eyes, hopping down from the counter and pushing past Louis to walk further into the kitchen. “You’re one to talk, you know. You have boys in your room all the time. You literally just had one in there.” She reached up into the cupboards and pulled out a tall glass, walking over to the sink to fill the glass with water. “And not only that,” she said as the water flowed into the cup, “but you’ve been doing it for years. And mum has never complained. The only reason she’s getting pissed with me is because I’m a girl!”

She was left somewhat breathless after her passionate speech. She downed the water in one gulp, her somewhat chubby cheeks inflating from the mass of liquid. Still breathing heavily after she swallowed, she looked over to see Louis staring at her with raised eyebrows. “What?” She asked defensively.

“Have you quite finished?” He asked. She gave a slight nod. “All right, well. First of all, I’m 19. You’re barely a teenager. Second of all, I’m also a lot more discreet seeing as I, you know, actually close the door when I’m, ahem, snogging them…” Lottie looked at him pointedly, as if to say, ‘Oh, yeah, I’m sure that’s all you do.’ Louis waved a hand at her dismissively. “No matter the details.” Moving to sit on one of the stools, Louis patted the one next to him, gesturing for Lottie to sit down. She complied, but her arms were crossed over her chest, her mouth pulled into a childish pout. She looked like a child who’d been refused her favourite sugary cereal in favour of bran flakes.

“Look, I know you’re just trying to express yourself in… your own unique way,” he said, gesturing to her outfit, which that day was a garish ensemble of rainbow-striped leggings, a low-cut denim skirt and a black, low-hanging tank top with a sparkly heart in the centre that read “VAMPIES PREFER BLONDES”. Louis could barely contain his shudder. “But you’re gonna give mum a heart attack if you don’t slow down. She doesn’t have it easy, you know.”

There was a brief silence during which Lottie stared at the ground, her crossed arms slowly falling to her sides. “She worries about you too, you know,” she said, looking up suddenly. “All the time.”

“I know. Obviously she does, she’s a fucking mother. That’s all they do. Worry.” He sighed, running his fingers through his fringe, his other hand brushing across his eyebrow piercing. “Look, Lottie… I’m not gonna tell you not to do the things you’re doing, ‘cause I’d be a hypocrite. I’ve been doing the whole rebel thing a lot longer than you have, but… the thing is, you can do it without being a complete fucking twat to mum, you know?”

“It’s not my fault she’s annoying and overprotective,” she mumbled.

“All mothers are annoying and overprotective, get used to it,” he said sternly. “She’s not trying to control your life, Lot. She’s just trying to make sure you’re careful. Is that really a bad thing?”

“I suppose not, I just… wish she’d just let me be sometimes, y’know?”

“Of course I do,” Louis laughed. “Like I said, I’ve been doing the whole rebel thing a lot longer than you have. And a lot, better I may add.” Lottie glared at him. He laughed and gave her a teasing slap on the knee. “Jesus, just look at my fucking body.” He hopped off the chair and lifted his tattoo-covered arms, allowing his loose-fitting shirt to rise up far enough for his rib tattoo to peek out slightly. “And my face.” He gestured to his multiple piercings. “I’m like, a parent’s worst nightmare. Seamus treats me like I’m Hitler half the time.”

Lottie snorted, fiddling with the material of her shirt, her eyes cast downward. “Seamus. He’s a bit of a Neanderthal, anyway.”

“Ooh,” Louis said brightly. “Neanderthal. Good word, I’m impressed. Now, use that knowledge to your advantage. Any time mum pisses you off, remind yourself she has to deal with his fat, stupid arse every day…” Lottie cracked up at his use of adjectives. “And sometimes, she could use a break. I mean, come on, is she really that bad?”

“I guess not,” she said with a shrug. “She just treats me like I’m a little girl sometimes.”

“I hate to break it to you, Charlotte,” he reached over to pinch her cheek, “but you’re not as old as you think you are. You’ve still got baby fat, for Christ’s sake.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, striking away his hand. “So did your little mate or boy-toy or not-boyfriend, whatever he’s called.”

Louis elected to ignore that comment. “Do you know if the Neanderthal is gonna be here tonight?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, her forehead creasing a bit in confusion. “Why?”

“Good. Let’s surprise mum, yeah? Let’s make dinner so she doesn’t have to. She’s been working her arse off these last few months. I swear she’s starting to get premature wrinkles.  She needs a break.”

Lottie appeared positively astonished, her eyes as wide as saucers, eyebrows receding beneath her bangs. “You? Cook dinner? What has curly boy done to you?”

Standing up again, Louis smacked her on the back of the head as he walked into the kitchen. “Oh, piss off, you. Now, come on, let’s get to work.”

The funny thing was, Louis was an absolutely atrocious cook; he burned everything, had no sense of portion or measurement, couldn’t distinguish cinnamon from black pepper and was just a general mess in the kitchen. It wasn’t a particularly big deal, as Louis hated cooking and generally ate whatever was put in front of him, always too stoned to even tell the difference between flavours, but it wasn’t ideal when he actually wanted to help.

He ended up letting Lottie do most of the work, stirring the pot of boiling pasta noodles only when she instructed him too and checking the chicken cooking in the oven when she was texting or needed a bathroom break. When the chicken and pasta are finished cooking, Lottie cut the meat into small cubes and sprinkled it over the pasta, which she had transferred into a dish and covered with bottled Alfredo sauce. Louis sprinkled the top with mozzarella cheese and stuck it back into the oven for a few minutes, while Lottie tossed together a side salad.

When Jay and the girls finally returned home, the two had set plates and forks in front of each chair, the food placed in the centre of the table, and cleaned the kitchen thoroughly. Jay nearly burst into tears as she caught sight of the table, pulling Louis and Lottie in simultaneously with an arm around each of their shoulders. Louis hugged his sisters as if he hadn’t seen them in years, lifting Daisy and Phoebe into his arms at once, kissing them on each of their heads while they marvelled at how ‘strong’ he was. When he pulled Fizzy against him, she gave him a pat on the back, muttering a soft ‘Hi, Lou’ into his shoulder.

He saw his sisters every day, but sometimes it felt like there was a wall of ice between them, separating them and creating a thick barrier that made it difficult to form a connection. Louis was always out of the house, always avoiding something, be it Seamus or confrontation or responsibility, Lottie and Fizzy typically did their own thing, and the twins were either sleeping or with a babysitter. It was nice to actually see them for once, to get to sit down with them and be a family instead of existing on different platforms like most days. If there was one thing Louis even gave a tenth of a shit about, it was his family, and it was about time he started showing that.

When they sat down to eat together, as a unit and a family, the conversation wasn’t riddled with long silences, furrowed brows, passive aggressive shading and things left unsaid. There was an ease, an unmitigated flow to the dialogue. The twins rattled on about the toys they received at the dentist, flashing their smiles over and over again to show off their new ‘pearly whites’. Fizzy spoke, Lottie spoke, about nothing and everything all at once, and there was a sense of tranquility that was seldom present, the usual tension fading away into an easy rapport. 

The entire time they eat, Louis sat watching his mother. The way the lines of her forehead settled when she smiled brightly, watching with fondness as her children chattered away, talking and laughing with each other without a care in the world. He watched as the stress that typically lurked behind her sad, dull eyes slowly melted away into something softer, something more approachable and warm. When she raised her eyes and smiled at Louis from across the table, Louis smiled back because, for once, it felt like she was actually looking at him, at the person he was and the person he wanted to be, instead of looking through him, at the projection of the son she really wanted. In her eyes, Louis saw something he witnessed from almost nobody, especially when they were facing in his direction.

He saw acceptance. Love. Gratitude. Appreciation.

And Louis realized, in that moment, this was exactly where he needed to be.

*

On the night of Harry’s performance, the auditorium was packed with preps and jocks and Louis felt, for a fleeting moment, like he was in the middle of a hackneyed, cliché 90s teen movie. He felt like the outcast protagonist who stood out in the crowd - only with a lot more tattoos and a lot less self-pity - alienated and segregated despite having almost nothing wrong with them other than the fact that they wear glasses. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t really care. He mostly just wondered what the fuck he was even doing there.

Louis hated school, that was no secret. It wasn’t just that he hated the work, or that he hated the people - although that certainly played a role in why he never went - it was the institution as a whole that made him sick to his stomach. There was something elitist and materialistic about the whole thing; the idea that you’ll never be anything unless you know how to calculate the square root of a fraction or how to write an entire short story without using pronouns.

But nonetheless, there he was, standing in a crowded, overheated auditorium, beginning to sweat profusely in his tight black jeans and denim jacket, watching kids who barely looked like they were out of pre-school make a fool out of themselves on a dimly-lit, voyeuristic stage. He had to remind himself several times that he was there for Harry and he tried not to question what that meant. The kid had been excited about it, beaming with boyish enthusiasm, and perhaps there was something intoxicating about his grin that made something in Louis give way. Louis had accepted some time ago that yes, he did actually consider Harry his friend, and he wanted to do things for him. It made him feel like less of a selfish prick.

After the first 4 acts had performed, which included a particularly horrendous rendition of ‘You’re the One That I Want’ from Grease by a boy and a girl who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else (and Louis himself really wished they were), he found himself rather anxiously anticipating Harry’s performance. Harry still hadn’t told Louis what he and Cher would be performing, keeping the whole thing under wraps and remaining rather annoyingly cryptic about it, which only rendered Louis more curious. Watching Harry’s slinky, surprisingly aggressive rendition of ‘One Way or Another’ a few weeks prior gave him some insight into what Harry was capable of, and the revelation wasn’t exactly unwelcome.

He was nearly ready to hack his ear off after a few more performances, which only grew even more nauseatingly awful as the show progressed. He was about to slip away for a smoke break, rationalizing that, with his luck, Harry and Cher would be performing last and he likely wouldn’t miss it, before he suddenly heard a familiar riff begin to circulate the room, a familiar voice echoing seductively into a microphone.

_Love me like a bomb, bomb, bomb_

 

Louis halted his stride and turned back around to face the stage, his eyes suddenly alight with interest. There was nobody on the stage, only the sound of a girl’s voice along with the music as the lights began to dim. Louis immediately recognized the voice as Cher’s. They were singing Def Leppard. Harry and Cher were performing a Def Leppard song. Louis’ mouth fell open in genuine surprise and delight as Cher strode onto the stage, stepping in tune to the music, one hand holding a mic, the other buried deep in her long, flowing hair.

As the guitar picked up and the beat grew louder, Cher, dressed in a Def Leppard tank top, a pair of torn booty shorts and tall, laced black boots, ran to the other side of the stage, reaching behind the curtain and pulling a blushing, grinning Harry from inside its depths. Louis’ throat tightened as Harry came into view, his dick giving a painful twitch within his jeans.

Harry was wearing a loose, low-hanging, black tank top, jeans so tight they clinged to his body in all the right places, with his curls styled upward into a quiff of some sort. He looked so unbelievably hot, Louis wanted to push his way through the crowd, hop onto the stage and fuck him right there. Even as Cher began to sing the first lines of the songs, Louis’ gaze didn’t leave Harry once, following his every move and undressing him with every flicker of his eyes.

_Love me like a bomb_

_Baby come on get it on_

_Livin’ like a lover with a radar phone_

_Lookin’ like a tramp, like a video vamp_

_Demolition woman, can I be your man?_

 

She danced around Harry as if she was a stripper and he was the pole, running her hands along his torso and hooking a leg around his hip. Harry grinned at her, shoulders hunched slightly and mic held close to his full, red mouth, and Louis felt a sudden lurch of possessiveness; there was only one person he wanted touching Harry at that moment and it was him. Louis’ hunger only grew as Harry took a deep breath and turned to the side, facing Cher and growling the lyrics into the mic. Louis could see the outline of his arse perfectly.

_Razzle ‘n a dazzle ‘n a flash a little light_

_Television lover, baby go all night,_

_Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet_

_Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah_

 

They grasped each other’s hands, spinning around to switch places, keeping their hands tight together and locking eyes as they crooned in unison:

_Take the bottle_

_Shake it up_

_Break the bubble, break it up_

 

Spinning around once again, this time to face the audience, they grinned at each other then turned their heads, tapping their feet and singing with unmatched ferocity and passion.

_Pour some sugar on me_

_Ooh, in the name of love_

_Pour some sugar on me_

_C’mon, fire me up_

_Pour your sugar on me_

_Oh, I can’t get enough_

 

Louis couldn’t figure out for the life of him how someone could move their hips like they were giving a lap dance and sing a song called ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ with their pretty pink mouth while still looking sweet and innocent, but somehow, Harry managed to do it. There was a humour and twinkle in his eyes that contrasted starkly with the intense sexuality behind Cher’s (though Louis paid hardly any attention to her), and there were moments when Harry was almost laughing along to the music, cracking up as he belted the lyrics and hiding his face in his shoulder. Nonetheless, he looked sexy as hell and Louis was having a hard time restraining himself from the insatiable urges that continued to pulse through his veins as he watched the performance.

He stood in the crowd, completely ignorant to any movement around him, watching intently as Harry and Cher circled each other like two lions in heat, their feet and hips one with the music. Louis thought that, for a gay boy and a straight girl, they certainly didn’t have any issues with chemistry, and if Louis didn’t know any better, didn’t know what a cock slut Harry truly was, he’d be convinced they were about to go fuck as soon as the performance was over. That was how good they were together and if Louis was feeling anything akin to jealousy in the pit of his stomach, he didn’t acknowledge it.

As the song drew to a close, Harry and Cher shouting ‘ _You got the peaches, I got the cream, sweet to taste, saccharine_ ’ into each other’s faces, Louis was practically salivating, his eyes roaming the long, lean length of Harry’s arms, lingering until they reached the soft, round curves of his arse. Harry wasn’t a burly guy, nor did he have any real muscles to speak of, but there was something about him, up there on that stage, that radiated sex appeal. It was the softness of his features, the gentle, youthful sparkle behind his eyes, the shy, perky dimples that dented his cheeks when he started to smile too wide, combined with the naughtiness of the lyrics, that made it nearly impossible for Louis to take his eyes off of him. It was a hard thing to do when sharing the stage with the wild lioness that was Cher Lloyd, but Harry held his own, and that in and of itself was enough to cause Louis’ jeans to clench tighter around his balls.

When the song finished and the two, instead of bowing, raised their fists in the air and stuck their tongues out cheekily, Cher leaped into Harry’s arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek as Harry spun her around. When he dropped her back to the ground, Harry’s head snapped toward the audience, his eyes searching the crowd frantically. Louis watched him until their eyes met and Harry grinned so wide his eyes disappeared beneath his eyelids. Louis managed a weak smile, attempting to hide the way his breath was hitching from barely contained desire, before Cher was pulling Harry off the stage by his hand while Louis ripped his phone from the pocket of his jacket.

Louis sent Harry a text as he exited the stage, urgently typing the message ‘meet me outside. now’ with shaky fingers and bolting out of the auditorium. His mind was reeling, his dick hard as a rock within his jeans. He stood outside the front doors of the school, anxiously smoking a cigarette, which was soon thrown to the side when a beaming, sweaty Harry bounded through the doors and was immediately pulled into Louis with a hand on the back of his neck.

Louis kissed him feverishly, gripping the back of Harry’s head with both hands and grinding his crotch against Harry’s sinfully tight jeans. When he broke the kiss, he released a thick burst of air against Harry’s chin, brushing his lips along Harry’s jaw until they reached his ear.

“My place,” he whispered, the words escaping in a low hiss. “Half an hour. Be there.”

*

While waiting for Harry to arrive, nearly a half hour after he fled the performance, Louis found himself almost shaking with need. The memory of the slow, languid sway of Harry’s hips, the firm roundness of his arse accentuated by the tightness of his jeans, which clung to the sharp curves of Harry’s body as if they were painted on. The desire was so potent Louis had to pace back and forth as he waited for him, practically lunging for the door when the bell finally rang. Louis barely caught sight of Harry’s beaming face as he opened the door, immediately reaching for him and pulling him inside by his lapels. He crushed their mouths together, unzipping Harry’s coat and throwing it to the side in one swift movement. Without detaching their lips, he slammed the door shut with his free hand, using the other to drag Harry further in.

Within seconds he had him pressed against the wall near the stairs, his tongue deep inside Harry’s mouth and his hands gripping his arse, deliciously firm and tight in the confines of his jeans. Harry gasped as Louis dragged his mouth down to nip at his jaw, lifting his hands to grip the back of Louis’ skull and guide his mouth toward his neck.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, his voice rough and wrecked. “I take it you liked it then.”

Louis scoffed, both startled and frustrated by the absolute nerve and of the kid, and kissed him again, messy and open-mouthed, words slipping through the heady press of his lips. “Fuck, you looked so good,” he muttered into his mouth. “Wanted to pull you right off the stage and fuck you.”

Harry tensed a bit, his hands dropping to Louis’ shoulders and pulling him back to look at him. “Louis…” His eyes were apprehensive, hesitant, searching for some kind of clarity, a sign that what was about to happen was okay for the both of them. His eyes were shiny and bright in the darkness of the room as they flickered across Louis’ face, desperate for connection.

“No,” Louis shushed him, covering his mouth with his once again. “Doesn’t matter. We don’t have to, I just. Fuck, I just need to touch you.”

Harry’s shirt was long since forgotten by the time they made it to Louis’ room, and Louis was already so hard he swore his dick was tearing a hole through his jeans. He pushed him onto the bed roughly and covered Harry’s body with his, gripping his hair and kissing him hard. Harry snaked his hands under Louis’ shirt, scratching his nails down his back softly, and Louis lifted himself up briefly to toss his own shirt over his head before pressing back down and sucking Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“So it was a good choice then?” Harry said with a breathy laugh, sifting his fingers through Louis’ hair.

Louis licked and sucked at the skin of Harry’s neck, dragging his tongue until it touched the lobe of Harry’s ear, eliciting a shudder and a moan from Harry. He could feel Harry’s erection pressing against his own. He desperately needed him naked. “Where’d you learn to move your hips like that?” He sat up to pull off Harry’s jeans, groaning in frustration as he struggled to remove the tight material from around Harry’s legs.

“Cher taught me,” he blushed, chuckling nervously. “She said I was, um, a bit rigid, so she gave me a little crash course…”

“I’m about to ravage you, Harry,” he said as he finally removed the jeans from around his ankles, reaching upward to pull down Harry’s boxers next, “I’d rather not talk about pussy right now.”

Harry laughed loudly and covered his mouth and Louis definitely did not find it cute. Definitely not, not at all, and he would attest to that in court if he had to. “Okay, will do,” he smiled, opening his arms to wrap around Louis as he dropped onto him once again and smashed their mouths together. “Lou,” he murmured against his mouth, “your jeans, they’re kind of…”

“Right.” Louis sat up quickly, tossing aside his belt and removing his jeans and boxers in one go. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat as he caught sight of Louis’ cock, and Louis couldn’t help but laugh. Harry had seen his cock many times before and still seemed surprised every time he did. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone while he was still up, he reached over to his night table, throwing open the top drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube.

“Lou…” Harry said cautiously, his eyes wide and chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Harry,” Louis responded, straddling Harry’s hips and running his hands down his smooth, pale chest. “I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to.” There was a sincerity in his voice that Harry clearly wasn’t used to, given the way his eyelashes fluttered and his mouth fell slack, and Louis wasn’t sure he was quite used to it either. He was asking Harry to trust him, which should have been hysterical coming from Louis, the person who trusted no one, and would encourage no one to do so, but somehow, he meant it.

And he definitely couldn’t afford to understand what that meant.

So when Harry nodded in response, and lifted his hand to pull Louis back down into a kiss, Louis allowed his mind to go blank. He focused on the feel of Harry’s full, wet lips, the sound of his deep, low moans in his ears, the hard length of his cock pressing against his stomach. He hadn’t been so turned on in a long time, and he wasn’t going to let that go to waste.

He pulled his mouth away from Harry’s and grabbed the lube, quickly slicking his fingers while looking down at Harry for approval. Harry stared at him for a moment before nodding his consent, and Louis positioned himself on top of Harry, bracing a hand against the headboard, the other inching closer to Harry’s arse.

“This might be a bit cold. Just, relax,” Louis whispered into Harry’s ear. 

He felt Harry nod beneath him. “Okay.”

Slowly pressing one finger inside Harry, Louis removed his hand from the headboard and used his palm to brush Harry’s hair out of his eyes. Harry whimpered as Louis pushed his finger in deeper, and Louis hushed his cries by pressing their mouths together in a slow, deep kiss. It had been Louis’ plan to ravage Harry, to make him whine and pant and scream his name over and over, to turn him on as much as Harry had him when he swung his hips along to Def Leppard on that small, dimly-lit stage.

The gears had changed when Louis witnessed the vulnerability in Harry’s eyes, the search for some sort of sign that this was safe, that this was okay. And suddenly it wasn’t about Louis anymore. He didn’t know what that meant, but it made him slow down. Slow down his lips and allow them to brush languidly against Harry’s as he moved his finger in and out of his hole, gently and cautiously inserting another when he felt Harry was ready for it.

He allowed himself to quicken his pace when Harry’s groans grew louder and his hands began to grip tighter at Louis’ hair. He watched Harry’s face as he pressed his fingers in over and over, watched the way his head lolled to the side, his plump, red lips falling open as his breath released itself in short, ragged bursts. He noticed the way Harry’s dark eyelashes stood out against the paleness of his skin, casting shadows along his cheeks, and that probably shouldn’t have gone straight to his cock but it did.

Everything about Harry was sensual, and seeing him utterly exposed and undone like such only emphasized these traits. From his full, otherwordly pink lips, to his pale, milky skin, even the thick, silky curls resting atop his head. His body was thin and still youthfully gangly, but not scrawny, and although he didn’t have any chest hair yet, he still felt like a man. His shoulders were broad, legs and torso abnormally long for a boy of merely average height, although Louis had noticed Harry had grown a few inches since they’d first met. He had already began to surpass Louis in height, and Louis wasn’t so much bothered by this as he was turned on.

As he continued to watch Harry, his eyes focused on the delicate fan of his eyelashes, Louis moved his other hand from Harry’s hand down to grip his own cock, stroking hard and fast as Harry edged closer and closer to his orgasm. Feeling very close himself, Louis reached for Harry’s hand, which was fisted in the sheets of the bed, moving it to wrap around his cock, releasing his grip.

“Come on, Harry, finish me,” he groaned, pushing his fingers deeper inside him and gripping Harry’s cock with his now free hand. He stroked him as he whispered in his ear, “Wanna come with you.”

Harry’s fingers were clumsy and aimless, as he was clearly too lost in his own pleasure to pay attention to Louis’, but the contact was enough to do the trick, and soon, they were coming together, spilling hot and pulsing into each other’s hands. Louis collapsed onto Harry with a groan, his cheek pressed against Harry’s sweaty chest. Harry laughed gleefully, wrapping his arms around Louis’ back and breathing into his hair.

“God, Lou,” he breathed, his voice scratchy and hoarse from his moans. “That was… amazing.”

Louis laughed into his skin. They both lay still for a moment, their chests rising and falling slowly as they waited for their breath to return to them. “Yeah,” he said finally. “It kinda was.”

He felt something then, a strange feeling that crept from his stomach into his chest, spreading throughout his body and enveloping him. It was unfamiliar, completely foreign to him, but somehow, it didn’t feel bad. It felt… warm. He wasn’t sure if it was just the heat of his and Harry’s combined post-orgasmic haze or something more internal, but at that moment, he didn’t care where it came from, nor did he care to know. He just knew it felt good.

When he fell asleep in Harry’s arms, wrapped in warmth and kindness and comfort, he told himself he was just too tired to move or muster the energy to ask Harry to leave, because that was easier to accept than the idea that maybe, just maybe, he actually wanted Harry to stay.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps. So this is kinda awks because I haven't posted in about two months, but if you follow me on Tumblr (volouminous, btw), you'll know why. This chapter was kind of a huge pain in the arse but you know what, hey, I got it done, and that's what matters, right? We're nearing the climax of the story now, so there's quite a bit of catharsis. It's also from Louis' POV, which is always fun. Thank you all so much for being patient with me (and thank you even to the not-so-patient ones...), and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you to Emily of peterpanandlarry for being such an amazing beta, and Devon as well! Anyways, yeah, enjoy!! Drop me a comment, let me know what you think of the development in this chapter. It'd be really nice, you know.

When Louis woke up the next morning, with a kink in his neck and the sudden realization that he was nestled in the arms of a boy with curly hair and dimples named Harry Styles, he most definitely did not panic.

He woke up with a feeling of heaviness resting on his chest, and after he’d rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes and craned his neck to see what it was, he saw that it was Harry, his head resting on Louis’ collarbones, sleepy smile traced across his smooth, porcelain features.

Louis’ fingers were threaded through the boy’s curls, his palm pressing Harry’s head against his chest, and Louis definitely did not panic.

After all, why should he have? Harry had stayed the night before, many times. It was a bit hard for him to get home after their late-night trysts considering neither of them owned a car nor knew how to drive, and Louis couldn’t exactly badger his mum to do it. It was just more convenient for Harry to stay; there was no reason to panic.

Until he detached himself from Harry’s grip and witnessed the boy’s face fall at the absence of warmth. He watched as Harry snuggled the pillow, curled himself to a ball and looked so much like an adorable kitten, that Louis smiled fondly and felt a sudden urge to lean down and press a kiss to the boy’s sleeping face.

He might’ve panicked a little then.

*

Louis managed to bury his troubling thoughts long enough to take a shower and have a quick wank. He got himself dressed all the while, thankfully all without waking Harry. As he threw on a pair of dark sweatpants and a bulky Iron Maiden shirt, Louis tried to forget that he woke up with a boner due to dreaming about Harry’s performance the night before. And when he came in his hand under the spray of the steaming shower, an image of a boy with dark brown curls and too-trusting eyes in the forefront of his mind, he tried to forget that too.

But when he looked down at Harry, who had shifted onto his back in Louis’ absence, his large hands on top of each other, resting on his heart, he was unable to diminish the rush of affection that crinkled the corner of his eyes. When it sent a pang of _something_ pulsing through his veins, it became impossible to forget, and Louis had to remove himself from the room to avoid a full-blown panic attack.

He was standing outside in the chill of the early morning, smoking his second cigarette in a row, the bitter smoke burning his dehydrated throat, when the thoughts finally settled in.

There was something about the night before, something about the intimacy and the connection and the _rightness_ that made it impossible for Louis to think about anything else. Harry had done something crazy, something so utterly unexpected of him and so out of his comfort zone that Louis was as impressed as he was turned on. Normally Louis was content with brushing off his encounters with Harry as spur of the moment, random bursts of horniness when he had nobody else to share it with. This time, he couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t different.

Because last night, when Harry had boldly taken the stage with Cher fucking Lloyd of all people, wearing tight black jeans and shaking his arse and sashaying his hips to Def fucking Leppard as if he was doing it for Louis, Louis wasn’t just aroused by Harry.

He was proud of him.

When Louis touched him afterward, it wasn’t just because he wanted to. It was because he needed to. He needed to touch him with a desperate ache that extended from the centre of his chest right down to his dick, and even further. Louis felt it everywhere. He needed his hands everywhere on Harry’s skin, needed to touch him more than he needed to breathe.

It felt amazing, and Louis came harder than he had in months, even before he and Harry had started… doing whatever it was they were doing, yet somehow, it also felt fucking terrifying.

It was terrifying because Louis was gentle when he hadn’t even been asked to be. It was terrifying because he wanted to fuck Harry so badly, but he didn’t because he knew Harry wasn’t ready. It was terrifying because he realized that he had always been more considerate of Harry’s feelings and what Harry was comfortable with, what Harry wanted as opposed to what Louis did.

It was terrifying because out of nowhere his thoughts were suddenly one long, never-ending loop of _Harry, Harry, Harry_ , and he had absolutely no idea how to deal with that.

*

After his third cigarette of the morning, the back of Louis’ throat began to feel like skin being rubbed against sandpaper. His body wracking was with shudders from the cold nip of the wind, and he was beginning to give too much light to thoughts he didn’t particularly feel comfortable pondering. Heaving a loud sigh, Louis let himself back inside, and stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the sound of voices coming from the kitchen.

He heard Lottie first, then Fizzy, then his mum. What made him groan, however, was not the combination of their voices but the sound of a distinctly low, very boy-like voice that didn’t belong to any of the house’s occupants, unless Daisy or Phoebe had miraculously turned into a man overnight.

Louis thought he would definitely prefer that to seeing Harry standing in his kitchen, dressed in one of Louis’ t-shirts and an old pair of his Batman pyjama pants, chatting merrily with his family as if he actually had the right to be doing so.

“Louis!” His mum called brightly, looking happier than he’d seen her in a long time. He didn’t even try to hide his snarl of resentment when Harry turned around and beamed at him.

What was even more annoying was the way even after just having rolled out of bed - a bed that wasn’t even his - Harry still looked good enough to eat, curls tousled and messy, a sleepy lilt to the corners of his smile.

Louis hated him for a moment.

“Morning,” Louis said hoarsely, rolling his eyes as he passed Fizzy and Lottie wiggling their eyebrows suggestively. Fizzy is 10, she shouldn’t even know what that gesture implies.

“Did you sleep well?” Lottie said cheekily, hoisting herself on the counter and coyly kicking her legs back and forth.

“Like a baby,” Louis replied, through no shortage of gritted teeth, and smacked her on the thigh as he passed her, carrying two bottles of water he’d just retrieved from the fridge. He almost winced when he handed one to Harry, because had he actually just intentionally taken one out for him when he hadn’t even asked?

Harry didn’t seem to mind at all, grinning at Louis and nuzzling his neck as he gladly accepted the cool bottle. It was so stupidly endearing that Louis was tempted to either throw his bottle at Harry’s stupid face or dump the entire thing down his back. “Thanks, Lou.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Louis responded curtly.

“How come we’ve never met Harry before?” Jay asked, making her way over to the toaster to pop in a few slices of bread. Great, Louis thought. They’ve already fucking exchanged names. “How many slices would you like, Harry?”

“Oh, no thanks, Ms. Tomlinson, I need to get home soon anyway. I’m sure my mum’s dying to cook me breakfast since I’ve stayed out all night, but thank you for the offer,” Harry said politely, throwing on his most charming smile. In that moment, Louis could have loved him.

“Oh, rubbish, love!” His mum chirped. “I’m not letting you go home on an empty stomach. Two slices then?”

Harry looked to Louis uneasily, and Louis just rolled his eyes and nodded; he wasn’t used to seeing his mum this animated and lively, so he figured he’d humour her a little. At least Harry had the decency to seek his permission.

“Okay,” Harry said, grinning at Louis. “Two it is.”

“Wonderful,” Jay responded, popping the slices in the toaster and moving over to the fridge to take out the eggs.

“I’ve met him before, mum!” Lottie piped up, responding to Jay’s previously unanswered question. Louis attempted to inform her, with a withering glare, that it wasn’t directed at her. “Found Louis snogging him in the doorway about a week ago.”

Harry flushed a brilliant red, and Louis darkened his glare further, eliciting a shit-eating grin from Lottie. This rebellious phase definitely wasn’t good for her attitude.

Fizzy made her first sound since Louis entered the kitchen, giggling in the chair she occupied. “You’re such a shit, Lot,” she mumbled.

“What?” Lottie asked innocently. “It’s the truth. And besides, Louis’ almost 20 now. He’s old enough to snog whomever he likes. Even if they are barely legal,” she added with a snicker.

Louis wasn’t sure who he wanted to murder most.

“Settle down, girls,” Jay said, cracking two eggs in a pan. “You’re embarrassing the poor boy.” She indicated Harry, who was standing next to Louis, the embarrassed blush colouring his cheeks flushing even darker than the sinful red of his lips. Louis found it increasingly hard to stay mad at him. Ironically, that only made him angrier.

“Embarrassing him?” Louis yelped hysterically. “What about me? What about my dignity?” He pressed his palm against his heart and pretended to cry. Sarcasm never failed to relieve him of uncomfortable situations.

“I think any trace of dignity you had was lost when you left your door open last night,” Lottie muttered under her breath. Louis had definitely had enough.

“All right, that’s enough,” Louis said, attempting to keep his voice mostly level to keep from growling at his family. He was already annoyed, and their cheeky remarks and inconsiderate prying was beginning to do his head in. It didn’t help that Harry was next to him looking adorable and bashful and Louis had previously felt sweet things toward him - which were quickly becoming more difficult to forget about.

It was just too much.  
  
“Look, you guys can joke among yourselves when we’re gone,” he said, gesturing to himself and Harry and cringing at the use of the term we, “I don’t care, but please stop acting like you’re not being fucking embarrassing.” Everyone’s eyes were on him now, Jay’s body facing him as her eyes flicker between him and the eggs, while Harry and the girls stared at him with wide eyes. His tone wasn’t that harsh, but hearing him openly admit to being embarrassed was probably a bit unexpected, and only served to agitate Louis even further.

“The reason you haven’t met Harry,” Louis said, avoiding the boy’s eyes, “is because he’s not my boyfriend and therefore you are not entitled to be introduced to him. He’s a mate, and you shouldn’t be treating him any different than any of my other mates just because he spent the night in my bed.”

Louis still wouldn’t look at Harry, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that Jay and Lottie were, and from the looks on their faces, it was probably a good thing Louis didn’t face him. Fizzy, on the other hand, just looked puzzled.

“Hang on,” she said, “you said he’s just your mate, but Lottie said you snogged him. Is it normal for mates to snog each other?”

Jay looked at her sympathetically. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Can’t say I really understand how young people’s minds work.” She kept her head turned but moved her eyes to look at Louis. Her eyebrows raised and Louis was pretty much done.

“Come on, Harry, I’ll walk you out,” he said, rolling his eyes and pulling Harry out of the kitchen by the arm. Thankfully, the boy didn’t question him, but he did remove his arm from Louis’ grasp as he moved to follow.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Harry,” Jay said, disappointment colouring her voice.

“You too, Ms. Tomlinson,” Harry replied, just as polite, although his voice was considerably less chipper. Louis felt a bit guilty.

“Please, call me Jay!” She called, but he and Harry were already in the foyer, Louis slipping on his Vans.

“My clothes are still upstairs, Lou,” Harry said, eyeing Louis uneasily.

Louis sighed and nodded, quickly slipping on his other shoe. “All right.”

He waited outside while Harry went up and changed, taking sips of the water he was still carrying, if only to hydrate his throat so he could smoke another cigarette. His mind began to wonder but, fortunately, before he could think anything he’d regret, Harry was opening the door, exiting the house, and closing the door with a sheepish smile.

They began to walk together, and the air around them was tense. Harry’s hands were stuffed uncomfortably in the pockets of his trousers, nothing but the sounds of their feet dragging across the gravely pavement filling Louis’ ears. Harry briefly glanced over at Louis, his features tight, as Louis lit another cigarette and they fell into step together, the silence uncommonly awkward.

It was Harry who eventually broke it. “Louis,” he said, scratching the back of his head and stopping in the middle of the pavement. Louis turned around and raised his eyebrows, cigarette still in his mouth. “What was that back there?”

Louis feigned ignorance, even though he knew very well what Harry was referring to. “What was what?”

“Oh come on, don’t be daft,” he blurted, clearly frustrated. Louis startled back a bit. “You know what I mean.”

Louis took a long drag before speaking again, “That doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Harry said, so quiet his voice was barely audible. He kicked at the pavement beneath his feet dejectedly. Louis sighed and moved to stand closer to him.

“Come on, Harry, you don’t have to make a big deal about this.” He placed his hand on Harry’s waist, snaking his fingers under Harry’s shirt a bit and brushing his fingers against the slight baby fat that remained on Harry’s stomach. Louis smirked as Harry visibly shivered at the contact. “Can’t we talk about how hot you looked on stage last night? I could get hard just thinking about it.” He was about to move Harry’s hand to palm his crotch when Harry abruptly shoved him off.

“Not now, Louis, Jesus,” Harry hissed, looking (rather adorably) peeved. Louis tried to keep his laughter (and hands) at bay as Harry continued to kick at the pavement uncertainly, his eyes flitting around the empty street. “I did that for you, you know? The stupid performance.” He stared at the ground as he spoke. He appeared to be speaking an afterthought, as a second later his head snapped up to look at Louis again and he said, “You didn’t have to be so harsh, you know?”

“Harsh?” Louis said, taking a step backwards. “What did I say that was harsh?”

“You like, completely dismissed me in front of your family. Like you could’ve just said, ‘guys, this is Harry, Harry, this is my family,’ and got it over with. I’m a person, you know. I’ve got feelings.”

Louis couldn’t prevent himself from rolling his eyes at that. It was just too cliché. “Look, Harry,” Louis said with a chuckle, “I was just saving us both the embarrassment. My mum is sentimental and my sisters are entitled little shits. They would’ve been cracking jokes about marriage and honeymoons if I hadn’t set the record straight.”

Harry stared at him, blinking rapidly, before casting his gaze toward the ground once again and mumbling under his breath, “What’s so bad about that?”

“Really, Harry? You’re gonna go there?” And Louis had thought he’d taught this boy well. Once a sap, always a sap, he supposed.

“I’m just saying,” Harry said firmly, “it wouldn’t be that bad. They’re just jokes, Louis.”

“Yeah, jokes I’d rather not hear. It’s none of their business who I take home and why, and it’s none of…”

“My business who your family are?” Harry was challenging him. His eyes were wide and searching and his posture stiff and assertive. Louis knew Harry could be a stubborn little shit when he wanted to be, and it wasn’t a quality of his Louis was particularly fond of. Louis remembered suddenly that he’d met Harry’s mum before, and even had dinner with the two of them. That knowledge made him feel very, very uncomfortable.

“Look, Harry,” Louis sighed, eager to end this conversation once and for all, “I’m… sorry if I like, dismissed you or whatever.” He cringed internally at himself; he was horribly awkward and stilted with apologies, especially when he didn’t mean them, which he hardly ever did. “But like… I meant what I said.”

“I know,” Harry said immediately, a bit too fiercely. “Whatever, it’s, it’s fine. I just think it was a bit stupid.” He began to walk away, but Louis grabbed his arm, a little bit offended at Harry’s accusation.

“What? How was it stupid?”

Harry sighed and gently removed Louis’ hand from his arm. “It’s fine, Louis, don’t worry about it.” He leaned forward and kissed Louis’ cheek softly. Louis’ skin burned where Harry’s lips brushed against it, but Louis was sure it was only from annoyance. Who did Harry think he was, referring to Louis as stupid? “I know how you are. Just - it’s fine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis said, turning around as Harry walked forward once again.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, Louis. Not unless you want it to. I have to go home though. My mum’s probably a bit worried.” He looked unsure for a moment, staring at the ground and biting his lip before beginning to walk backwards. “I’ll text you later, or summat.”

With that, he turned around and finally walked away, and Louis was left standing there, glaring at his retreating back and wondering what the fuck Harry was even on about.

*

A few days later, during which Louis childishly avoid any contact with Harry (meaning he didn’t go to school once, but that wasn’t strange at all; it was fairly typical), Louis and Niall were situated in Niall’s basement. Louis was on the couch smoking a few bowls and the occasional fag, while Niall bashed out a whack of nonsense on his drum set. It was just the two of them; Liam and Zayn were on a ‘double date’ with Danielle and Perrie, for the evening as, according to Niall, Zayn had finally grown a pair and asked Perrie to be his girlfriend for real.

It was a bit strange to Louis that he was only then finding out, as apparently it had happened a few weeks before.

“Why am I only finding this out now? No offence, mate, but I’m pretty sure I’m Zayn’s best friend. More so than you or Liam,” Louis said shortly, annoyed and somewhat disappointed.

Niall scoffed, twirling his drum sticks between his fingers. “Hasn’t seemed like it lately.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Niall sighed, shrugging, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with Harry. More so than usual. You’ve barely been around, man. Haven’t seen you since the party.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up under his hairline and his mouth fell open. Had it really been that long? Shit. “Been busy, I guess,” Louis said with a shrug, lighting another fag.

Niall snorted and rolled his eyes, continuing to tap uselessly on the drums. “Yeah, busy with Harry.”

Louis elected to ignore that comment. So what if he was spending a lot of time with Harry? He was doing the same things with Harry as he always did with the lads; they didn’t go on dates or hold hands. They got high and lazed around, played video games while Louis laughed at how awful Harry was, and talked about music. The only difference was that with Harry, Louis also got laid on a consistent basis, so why wouldn’t he spend as much time with him as possible?

“Anyway,” Louis continued around a mouthful of smoke, “since apparently taking advantage of an easy lay has ostracized me from this group, care explaining Zayn’s sudden change of heart?”

Niall stared at him with his brows raised, looking unimpressed. “Can’t imagine Harry would take well to being called an ‘easy lay’, Tommo.” Louis rolled his eyes, gesturing for him to continue with his cigarette. Niall sighed again and moved away from his drums, sitting on the couch across from Louis and beginning to pack a bowl. “Dunno,” he shrugged. “Guess he just thought it was about time, y’know?”

“It’s never about time,” Louis grumbled mutely.

“Maybe not for you, but they like each other, Lou. They should be going out.”

Louis recalled suddenly his and Zayn’s spoken promise from years ago; never fall in love. Never let your guard down. Nothing is permanent so don’t waste your time. Louis’ cynicism only deepened over the years, to the point where the simple idea of Louis falling for someone was laughable. Louis had stayed true to his beliefs, to that very day, but Zayn had been moving farther and farther away with each one that passed.

It had been happening ever since Zayn met Perrie. They hit it off immediately, and within four meetings Zayn was fucking her against the door of his bedroom, the sounds of her loud moans and her back roughly banging against the door resounding as far down as the sitting room, where Louis was laying on the couch, wasted and drifting into sleep.

Louis had applauded Zayn for it; while he wasn’t attracted to girls, he wasn’t blind, and Perrie was clearly well fit, a bit of a punk herself with her tight black clothes, raccoon eyes and flower crowns. She also wasn’t a bad hang either, so Louis wasn’t all that displeased when one hook-up turned into two, and two turned into an on-going casual relationship. It was fine because there were no feelings involved. Just casual sex, and Louis wasn’t opposed to those sorts of relationships even if he preferred simple one-night stands himself.

After all, his arrangement with Harry was very much the same, only with less actual sex, so Louis wasn’t apt to judge. Now that Zayn had made things official with Perrie, however, upgraded her status from fuck buddy to actual girlfriend, Louis felt somewhat betrayed.

“You know,” Niall said, finally lifting the bong to hit his bowl, “you’d think your aversion to relationships would have something to do with not being able to have one, but that’s obviously not true.” He gave Louis a smug smile before finally lighting up.

“No,” Louis said through his teeth, “it isn’t. My aversion is to the fact that every single one has a fucking expiration date, and there’s no point getting attached when it’s just gonna end anyway. And forgive me for being a bit angry that Zayn -”

“Oh, I know all about your and Zayn’s little pact,” Niall said, voice strained from holding the smoke in the back of his throat. He continued as the smoke escaped his mouth in tiny wisps, “The only thing is, Zayn’s smart enough to forget about a stupid pact and take advantage of how good he has it.”

“You and I have very different definitions of smart, apparently.”

“Yeah, because your definition is stupid.” Niall sat back against the couch and shook his head disapprovingly. “You don’t even know how good you have it.”

“Once again, the subject matter of which you’re speaking alludes me.” Louis was full of shit, really; he knew exactly what Niall was referring to, but the longer he could hold off on this pointless conversation, the better. He was done with it before it even started.

“Harry, man,” Niall said, flailing his arms in exasperation.

Under normal circumstances, Louis would have called Niall a delusional twat and demand a subject change, but, the thing was, this time, Niall was right.

Louis did know. Of course he fucking knew. From the very beginning, he’d known Harry was different. He may not have initiated things with him with intentions of becoming his boyfriend, but he didn’t do it simply to get in his trousers either. Looking back on it, Louis still didn’t quite understand why he’d been so intrigued by Harry that first day, when Harry was nothing but a shy, bespectacled new kid who stared at him a little too long to be entirely heterosexual. But Louis wasn’t one to question things, and he wasn’t about to start now.

It was obvious to everyone, including Louis himself, that the situation with Harry was abnormal for him, obvious that it wasn’t just about sex (or lack thereof), but that didn’t mean he had to talk about it, or attach a meaning to it. The good thing about Harry, Louis thought, was his very keen understanding of other people and how they worked, and as such, his very keen understanding of Louis. He admired that about Harry, his ability to know exactly what Louis needed at any moment in time, his refusal to push Louis into territory capable of subjecting him to extreme discomfort.

Niall, on the other hand, was not nearly as tactful, and seemed to enjoy pushing Louis’ very thinly disguised buttons, just to see him squirm. Niall claimed it was because he cared, but Louis knew people better than that, especially one of his closest friends.

“You can look at me like that all you want, mate,” Niall said, loading another bowl, “I’m just trying to help you.”

Face muscles tightening into an irritated grin, Louis crossed his arms over his chest. “Help me how? By making me discuss things that don’t need discussing?”

Niall stuck the bowl inside the down stem, but instead of lifting the bong, he threaded his fingers together and dropped them onto his knees with a sigh. “Lou, can I be honest with you?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to hear it, but I’m also sure you don’t give a shit what I want, so go ahead. Can’t guarantee I’ll listen, though.” Louis did nothing to hide his irritation; talking about Harry was one of his least favourite past times, and he made sure his friends understood this every time they mentioned his name in conversation.

As usual, Niall ignored his indignation. “I know you think I’m only interested in like, pints and girls and weed and all that, but that’s not all I care about, man. You’re one of my best mates. I know when something’s up with you.” His tone was firm, but his eyes were warm and sympathetic.

It didn’t make Louis want to punch him in the face any less.

Louis couldn’t see this conversation coming to an end, no matter how many times he could attempt to change the subject, so he figured, why not let the miserable twat humour him? “And what do you, Dr. Horan, think is up with me?”

Niall exhaled a deep breath, blowing it through pursed lips and hollowed cheeks. He looked apprehensive, as if he was about to inform his patient of his desire to up their medication. “I think,” he said after a pause, very slowly, “I think you’re selling yourself short.” Louis raised an eyebrow, which Niall interpreted as a cue to continue. “You’re always on Liam’s case for having a girlfriend, and now Zayn for making things official with Perrie.”

“It’s funny,” Louis said, reaching over to out his long finished cigarette in the ash tray on the table, “that you’re on my case for refusing to be in a relationship, yet I can’t recall you ever having a girlfriend? You‘ve pulled as much as I have.”

“That’s true, but I just haven’t found anyone I’ve liked enough yet.”

“Yeah, well, neither have I,” Louis said, and Niall let out a bark of laughter. “What?”

“Come on, we both know that’s total shite. There’s no way that’s the reason.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Louis said shortly, growing more irritated by the second. He clutched his lighter tightly in his fist, pressing his tension into the sleek black object so hard he felt the flicker of a flame against his palm.

“So you admit it then?” Niall said with a smirk. “You do like Harry, but something else is holding you back?”

“Wow, Niall,” Louis said through gritted teeth, standing up from the couch and pocketing his lighter and cigarettes. “You’re as predictable as ever.”

“Come on, Lou. Stop being so difficult. I know Harry’s not just a fucking easy lay for you. Everyone knows. Why won’t you just give him a chance? It‘s not even just that man. You‘re almost fucking 20 and you‘re still stuck in ‘me against the world‘ phase. It‘s about fucking time you grow up and start to take things a bit more seriously. You’re living a fantasy.”

And with that, Louis had had enough. Anger crackled inside him, filling him up and sending his foot smashing into the side of the couch in a violent kick. “I’m living a fantasy?” Louis said with a bitter snort. “Look at you lot. You’re all the same age as me and you may all have jobs and fucking girlfriends but you know what, that doesn’t make you any smarter than me. You’re almost 20 and you’re still stuck in a stupid fucking high school band that hasn’t even got a name! ‘Vacant Description’, really?”

“That’s not even a fair comparison,” Niall protested, but Louis cut him off before he could continue.

“Do you really think you’re gonna make it big? That, one day, you’re gonna be playing in fucking sold-out stadiums with a million fans in the audience screaming your name? Because if that’s not a fucking fantasy, I don’t know what is.”

“No, I don’t think that, Louis,” Niall said firmly, “but you know what? You never fucking know what’s gonna happen or where you’ll end up if you don’t fucking try.”

Louis scoffed, shaking his head with a strained chuckle and rubbing his hand across his face. He was done with this conversation. He was done before it even fucking started. “Whatever, man, I’m out. Until you admit you’re living a fantasy, I’ll continue living what is supposedly mine without your fucking pathetic judgement.”

Louis was halfway up the stairs when Niall called his name in protest, and Louis turned around once more to hiss, “Besides, what’s the point in wanting something that’s just gonna fucking end anyway?”, before bolting out the door in an angry huff.

*

When Harry appeared in his bedroom an hour after he returned from Niall’s, having texted Louis and informed him he was coming over, Louis was still fuming from his and Niall’s conversation and in no mood to see anyone, let alone the subject of the fucking conversation.

As Harry entered, shutting the door behind him, he looked so upset and uncertain that any trace of frustration within Louis faded into a liquid pool of concern and sympathy in the pit of his stomach, and there was no way for him to quell it. That, in turn, only made him angrier, because concern was the last thing he wanted to be feeling at that moment. He wanted to yell, kick, scream, punch something. He wanted to take his anger over the shit and shambles his life had become out on something, _anything_.

Louis was lifting weights beside his bed, chasing and clinging to his anger with each lift of the heavy metal and resounding burn of his bicep. He wished in that moment that he could be a boxer, because with every passing, silent second Harry stood there, wide-eyed and pigeon-toed, Louis’ overwhelming desire to punch something only grew stronger.

When Harry continued to stand there in silence, Louis rolled his eyes and placed his weights on the floor, stretching his arms and huffing a sigh. “Do you have something to say Harry, or are you just gonna stand there and ogle my gorgeous body?”

Harry chuckled uneasily, scratching uselessly at his elbow. “Um,” he started, looking around the room nervously. “Are we okay? You’ve seemed off the past few days.”

It was funny, because Louis hadn’t seen or even texted Harry in days. “How do you figure? Haven’t even seen you in the past few days.”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, approaching the bed and sitting cautiously on the edge. He fiddled with his fingers nervously. “That’s kinda what I meant.”

“What?” Louis said with a scoff, discarding his sweaty black wife beater and replacing it with a clean grey one. He noticed Harry’s Adam’s apple bob at the sight. “I haven’t talked to you in a few days, so that must mean I’m off? Interesting logic there, kid.”

Harry’s face twisted in contempt. “I’m not a kid, Louis.” Harry really hated when he called him that, said it made him feel like Louis didn’t take him seriously.

“All right, all right,” Louis said, holding his arms up in defeat. “You’re not a kid. But you still got yourself worked up for no reason. I’m fine.” There was a certain bite and venom to his tone that Harry must have noticed, because his face furrowed into an expression that mimicked an angry kitten. Louis bit back a chortle.

“It doesn’t really seem like you are. You seem annoyed, Lou. Or angry. Or something.”

“Since when are you an expert on my moods?” Louis said lightly, voice sarcastic, falling back on the bed next to Harry and regarding him patronizingly.

“You don’t have to be a prick about it. I was just worried. You usually don’t go that long without texting me.”

“Christ,” Louis snorted, pushing himself off the bed. Of course he’d be upset about that. “Harry, we’re not in a relationship, for fuck’s sake. I’m not obligated to inform you of my location at all times.”

Harry stared up at him in disgust. “Wow, Louis, really? You’re really gonna go there? I already know that, I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Don’t I though?” Louis didn’t bother to conceal the annoyance in his voice. He welcomed it with open arms. If this was going where Louis thought it was going, it’d been a long time coming, and Louis would be happy to finally get it out of the way. Or he should be.

“Jesus,” Harry said, standing up and pacing around the room. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Is that some sort of sexual innuendo?” Louis said airily, tapping his chin, delighting in the way his comment seemed to cause Harry to curl his lips even tighter in disdain. Or at least, he wished he was delighting in it. Really, he kind of felt like he was about to be sick. “Because I’ll have you know, I’m the one who…”

“Fucking hell, Louis!” Harry shouted. Louis was taken aback, his teasing, passive-aggressive grin disappearing. He’d never heard Harry shout, never in the entire time he’d known him, and he’d never expected it’d be so loud. He swallowed as Harry barrelled on, “How many fucking times have I told you to take shit seriously once in a while?”

Louis recovered from his surprise quickly and seamlessly. “See what I mean, Harry? ‘How many times have I told you?’ ‘Why haven’t you texted me in a few days?’” He recounted in a mocking voice, exaggerating Harry’s deep, slow, lazy way of speaking. Harry looked mortally offended. “I’ve been telling you this from the beginning. Sometimes you act like a clingy girlfriend when you whinge and moan like that and it’s really not a turn-on for me.”

Harry’s mouth positively fell open at that one. Louis should have been proud for gauging such a reaction from the boy, but instead, he still felt sick. He wasn’t even sure what the outcome of this conversation would be; if Harry would leave in a huff and threaten to never speak to him again but come crawling back days later begging for forgiveness, or if he’d just accept Louis’ words with his typical cool, calm, collected sensibility. Somehow Louis doubted it’d be either of these cases.

“Wait a second,” Harry said suddenly, appearing to come to some sort of realization. “Is this about me meeting your family? Are you still fucking angry about that? Is that what started this? ‘Cause we were fine before then.”

“Were we, though?”

“Stop it! Stop it, Louis, just fucking stop it!” Harry gripped his hair between both hands in exasperation, turning his back to Louis, who was feeling more ill by the second.

“Stop what?” His voice didn’t come out as firm as he’d intended, and he cursed himself for how difficult it was for him to do this. Why couldn’t this just come fucking easy, like it always had? Why did Harry have to be fucking different?

“Stop being so fucking cryptic!” When Harry turned around, he appeared to be near tears, and Louis felt a stab of guilt attacking him inside his chest. But he had to ignore it. He had to be hard. He’d let this go on for far too long and they were both getting a bit too comfortable for Louis’ liking. “Stop being cryptic and tell me what the fuck I did wrong!”

Louis decided in that moment that this had to end, and he couldn’t be nice about it. As much as he didn’t want to hurt Harry (and he hated himself for how much he really didn’t want to), he knew he had to do this, for both of their sakes.

“I think,” Louis started, keeping his voice even and calm and refusing to look up at Harry, “I think we’ve let this go on for too long, and I think, in that time, you sort of lost track of what you signed up for to begin with.”

“Excuse me?” Harry was fighting back tears, though a few rogue ones spilled from his eyelashes onto his lips until they were shining red. Louis really wanted to just fuck the whole ordeal and kiss him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lead Harry on anymore, not when he had nothing to offer but a lifetime of bitter, jaded loneliness. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, Harry, it’s obvious you want more from me than I’m willing to give, all right? It’s been obvious for a while. But you knew what you were getting into, from the beginning. You knew what I was about. You should‘ve known that before you got involved with me.”

Harry appeared to go slightly insane for a second. His mouth fell open, his eyes as wide as saucers, and he began to laugh humorously, a bit hysterically, falling onto Louis’ bed and clutching at his stomach. Louis was about to ask if he was all right, when Harry’s head whipped toward him and he choked out through his laughter, “I should’ve known that? Me? Louis, _you_ kissed _me_! You kissed me first!” He stood from the bed and faced Louis. “And if I recall correctly, you kissed me right after I told you I liked you!” He stalked toward Louis, his features tense and angry, and poked at Louis’ shoulder. “So don’t you tell me that I knew what I was getting into when you knew very well yourself!”

Louis was silent for several moments, his heart beating furiously in his chest. Harry was so close that Louis could feel the boy’s hot breath huffing against his nose; fuck, when did he get so tall? Louis, feeling very much out of his element, swallowed hoarsely, because Harry was right. He’d known Harry had feelings for him from the very beginning, and he was the one to make the first move. What was he supposed to say to that? Louis didn’t even have an explanation for that himself. He’d just done it.

That was how Louis worked; he just did things. He did drugs, because he wanted to. He vandalized property and stole bikes and skateboards and equipment, because he wanted to. He had sex with every random guy he found attractive, because he wanted to.

These were simple things he didn’t have to explain, because there was no need to.

Kissing Harry was different, because as much as Louis hated to admit it, an explanation was needed. Unfortunately, Louis still didn’t have one, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

Louis didn’t even realize how long he’d gone without speaking until Harry was no longer in his line of vision. He looked up when he heard Harry scoff and found him standing near the door, his hands on his hips and back facing Louis.

“You know what I think?” He said, sniffling slightly. He kept his back to Louis as he spoke. “I think you’re just scared.” Louis froze. “I think you’re just scared of caring about someone, because you think it’s gonna end badly. I know you don’t mean it when you say you don’t believe in love, Louis. You love your family way too much for that to be true.”

In the span of five short seconds Louis was fuming, uncrossing his arms and storming across the room to stand before Harry. He gripped Harry by the arm and spun him around, and Harry didn’t even flinch as he faced Louis, holding his gaze firmly, staring down at him with assertive eyes. Louis wanted to hit him for assuming he knew next to anything about him. “Don’t,” he said darkly, pointing his finger in Harry’s face, “don’t for one second assume you know anything about me or what I’m thinking. Just don’t.”

Harry scoffed and slapped his finger away, continuing to stare him down. “Okay fine. I may not know you, but I know me, and I never fucking tried to force you to do anything.” Harry’s voice was slowly raising to a shout. “You knew I liked you like that and you fucking kissed me anyway so don’t try to blame anything on me!”

“Fine, okay, I did,” Louis shouted back, “but I didn’t tell you it meant anything! I never once fucking told you that!”

“I know! And you know what? I accepted it! I never tried to make us, this,” he gestured between them frantically, “whatever the fuck this is anything more than it was!” Harry backed away then, increasing the distance between them, and regarded Louis angrily. “And you know what? If I thought I was nothing to you, I wouldn’t have fucking let you kiss me.”

“Yeah, and you know why you let me? Because you trust people too easily, Harry. I admire your childish optimism but sometimes it’s a little too much. I gave you no fucking reason to trust me, Harry. You knew how I felt about that stuff! You still do. It hasn’t fucking changed. Did you think you could change me, Harry?” Louis said patronizingly. He had no idea what he was doing anymore; things were tumbling out of his mouth before he could even process them. This conversation was getting out of control.

Harry appeared, once again, at a loss for words, his mouth hanging open and his expression confused. “I,” he sputtered loudly, “I, no, Louis, no, I didn’t.” He was silent for a moment, then he looked Louis straight in the eyes and said, “But I thought, maybe, just maybe, you’d be smart enough to change yourself.”

“See?” Louis shouted. “See, that’s exactly what I was fucking saying! You want more from me, you always fucking have!”

“Of course I do!” Harry yelled back, shoving Louis backwards. “Of course I fucking do! And you knew that, you know that! But I knew you didn’t, and I never tried to force you into anything! Okay, yeah, I met your family but so what? You’ve met my mum before! What’s the difference? And yeah, maybe I did that performance with Cher because I wanted to impress you.” There was no shame in Harry’s voice, even as he continued to shout brokenly. Instead he just sounded sad, defeated, and Louis wanted to take it all away just as much as he couldn’t. “I did it all to make you happy! Because your happiness means a lot to me!”

“Well, it shouldn’t!” Louis’ chest was heaving, his throat was hoarse and sore and dry, and he just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out because he had no idea what was going on anymore and he didn’t know where this was going to end and he didn’t want Harry to hate him, no matter how much he needed to push him away. He was so fucking weak. “Why is my happiness even worth anything to you? I’m being a complete arse to you and you’re still here!”

“So, what you’re essentially saying is,” Harry said with a bitter chuckle, “is you know you’re being an arsehole, but you’re doing it anyway?”

“Because I need you to fucking see me for who I am, Harry! Not who you think I am!” Louis was so close to breaking, to just grabbing Harry by the shoulders and kissing him breathless and never letting go, but he couldn’t let Harry win. Not now. He needed to be in control, Louis _always_ needed to be in control, and at that moment, he wasn’t. He desperately needed the power back. “You know I can’t fucking, like, ‘love’ you or whatever!” Louis cringed at the use of the world, or maybe he did due to his inability to even say it properly. “I’ll never be your boyfriend!”

“Why?” Harry challenged him, crowding into his space once again. Louis’ body reacted to the proximity immediately, sending shocks of heat and electricity to his spine and the tips of his fingers. _Fuck_. “Because you don’t want to or you won’t let yourself?”

“Stop fucking putting words in my mouth, Harry!” Louis wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take; they were both breaking, slowly but surely losing themselves amidst the conversation, and Louis felt so fucking _weak_.

“Maybe if you just said what you thought once in a while, then I wouldn‘t fucking have to! If I don’t mean anything to you, just fucking say it!”

They were close now, so close that Louis could feel Harry’s hot breath puffing heavily against his upper lip, and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine. Louis’ heart was pounding, and he could feel the words on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released, but they wouldn’t come. Harry’s eyes were blazing and boring into his, and when they flickered to his lips and back to his eyes, Louis could do nothing more than bridge the gap, crushing his lips to Harry’s and slamming his back into the closed door.

Louis’ dick hardened almost instantly at the contact, and Harry’s hands curled into fists against Louis’ shoulders. Louis opened his eyes to see Harry’s face scrunched and pained against his, and just as Louis closed his eyes again, Harry mustered up enough force to wrench Louis’ mouth away, parting with a smack and a gasp. Louis curled his fingers around Harry’s wrists, pulling them off his shoulders and pinning him against the door, invading all of his space until their noses were touching and their bodies were flush against each other.

When Harry gathered enough breath to speak, his voice released itself in a cracked sob. “I don’t want to be weak,” he said, his breath hitching. “I don’t want to be weak for you.”

“You’re not,” Louis said roughly, every ounce of his anger melting away in the heat. He tightened his grip on Harry’s wrists, pressing them harder against the door. He moved his mouth to Harry’s ear, nipping slightly at the lobe as he whispered, “I am.”

He kissed Harry again, releasing his wrists and wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist, and this time, Harry seemed less reluctant to accept it. Harry whimpered into his mouth, throwing his arms around Louis’ neck and falling pliant in his arms. Louis’ dick was aching in his pants, and he could feel Harry’s erection pressing hard against his, and he needed their clothes off, now.

Harry tightened his grip around Louis’ neck, pressing their faces impossibly close, their noses squashed together, as their tongues explored each other’s mouths and Louis’ hands snaked beneath Harry’s shirt. Louis began to taste tears between their lips, and when he pulled back, startled, he found Harry’s face tear-stained, his mouth so red and inviting, and Louis’ heart lurched. _Fuck_. He buried his face in Harry’s neck, pressing kiss after kiss to the already heated skin, and only tightened his grip when Harry’s head fell against his and he heard hoarse whispers of, “I want you, Louis, I want you so bad,” in his ear.

Louis groaned, his mouth falling slack against Harry’s shoulder, before he was pulling back and yanking Harry’s shirt over his head, dropping his hands down to run over the boy’s smooth chest. As his eyes took in the changes he’d been noticing over the months, Louis was blind-sided by the fact that he’d literally watched this boy grow up; from the time he was the shy, new kid, just 16-years-old and looking for a place to belong, until now.

He still had a thin layer of baby fat over his stomach and in his face, but his body was leaner, his torso longer, with legs that went on for days, and God, where had that lightly muscled chest even come from? It hit Louis then that this was the same boy in the classroom from all those months ago, the same boy who captured his interest for seemingly no reason at all. Louis had watched him change, watched him slowly grow up, and it was like a ton of bricks to realize just how much he still wanted him, even after so much time and so much change.

A growl escaped his throat as the thoughts orbited around in his mind; there was no way he was attaching any meaning to this, not now, not ever. This was want, pure, physical want, and with the way Harry was staring at him, tears drying but eyes still glazed over with lust, Louis could tell it was the same for him. Harry may have thought he loved Louis, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was no point in deluding the boy into thinking it was possible. So Louis yanked him into another hard kiss by the back of his neck, swiping his tongue across the roof of his mouth in an attempt to erase any feeling, any meaning, and transform it into what it really was; _lust_.

When just kissing suddenly became both too much and too little, and Louis was about ready to come in his trousers, he began to unbuckle Harry’s belt, tearing his mouth away to concentrate on his fumbling fingers. When Harry began to make work on Louis’ own belt, Louis slapped his hands away, because this was his call and he was in control and he _needed_ to be in control or he’d lose his fucking mind.

He pulled Harry’s trousers and boxers down in one swift go, before making progress with his own, but when he looked up, his urgency faded a little as he took in Harry’s broken expression. In an inexplicable, fleeting moment of tenderness, Louis brushed his fingers across Harry’s cheekbone and down to press his thumb against his bottom lip. Something must have surfaced in Louis’ eyes that he hadn’t intended to show, because Harry was raising his hand and brushing his knuckles along the same place Louis had just touched, his features softening.

They met each other halfway in a bruising kiss, and Louis was trying so hard to make it meaningless, trying so hard to be angry and remorseless but then Harry looked at him like that, with so much softness and gentleness, that it was almost impossible. Louis groaned against Harry’s mouth, pressing him harder into the door, attempting to be as rough as possible as he yanked his own trousers past his hips and kicked them to the side.

But every time his hands touched Harry, every time their mouths met and their tongues collided and their hips pressed together Louis found himself slowing down, against his will, his fingers moving in gentle, private movements. Harry responded in kind, raking his nails down Louis’ back but not hard enough to leave a mark, tangling his fingers in Louis’ hair but pulling only just slightly. Why did it have to be that way? Why couldn’t Louis just not care?

By the time they were both naked, Louis couldn’t be bothered to ask Harry what he wanted, or what was okay. No, he crowded closer to Harry so the tips of their cocks were pressing together, and as Harry’s fingers tightened around his shoulders, a gasp escaping his lips, Louis slipped his hands beneath Harry’s thighs, hoisting him up so his legs were wrapped around Louis’ waist, his back pressed against the wall for support.

Harry gave a startled gasp of surprise at the movement, tightening his hold around Louis’ shoulders, but didn’t protest as Louis began rolling his hips against Harry’s, thrusting slowly up and down so their dicks brushed against each other’s. Louis’ skin was on fire, liquid heat pooling in his stomach and setting every nerve alight as his skin rubbed against Harry’s. Louis felt it everywhere, in his fingertips, his chest, his legs, his knees. He felt Harry everywhere and ached to be closer even though it was nearly impossible.

They stood, chest-to-chest, Harry’s back against the door and legs around Louis’ waist as Louis rutted furiously against him, so fast and so fucking good that Louis didn’t even realize they’ve never done this before. As Louis panted into Harry’s shoulder, keeping one hand hooked securely under his thigh, thrusting his cock back and forth against Harry’s, he came to the belated realization that this was actually happening.

He was actually having sex with Harry; maybe not in the all-encompassing, frenzied heat he was used to, but sex all the same. He was standing against the door of his bedroom, rubbing his cock against Harry’s, and it was so fucking amazing. The sound of Harry’s desperate whines were bringing him closer and closer to the edge, and it was so good that he entirely forgot how sacred this was to Harry.

And that was what finally brought him over the edge; the knowledge that this was his call, that he was the one entirely in control of the situation, he was the one with the power, sent shudders wracking through his body as he spilled all over Harry’s stomach, letting go of Harry’s thigh and dropping him to the ground. Louis braced himself against the door, breathing heavily, trapping Harry between his arms, as Harry finally joined him a few seconds later.

Harry’s head fell against his shoulder, his sweaty curls sticking to the perspiration pooling around Louis’ shoulders, as he panted helplessly, waiting for his breath to return. Louis couldn’t be close to him, not then, not after what happened; he couldn’t make this a personal moment. He’d already let himself do that too many fucking times, to the point where even he almost, almost thought it might actually have meant something.

It was silent for a few minutes, as Louis detached himself from Harry and made his way over to the bed, picking up his discarded clothes and slowly sliding into them. Louis could feel Harry’s eyes on him, but he didn’t meet them, concerned something in his own would let Harry in on something he wasn’t keen to reveal or even ponder. As he secured his jeans around his waist with his belt, he heard the rustle of Harry’s clothes as he lifted them from the ground, but he still didn’t turn around.

When Louis finished dressing, he sat on his bed, palms against the mattress, leaning back onto it as casually as he possibly could. He watched as Harry, never raising his eyes from the ground, pulled his shirt over his head and slid his arms into his jumper. When he finished, he finally looked up at Louis, hair wild and cheeks flushed and bitten red lip pulled between his teeth, looking every bit like the nervous, uncertain 16-year-old Louis first laid eyes on all those months ago.

Louis couldn’t do anything but stare back, keeping his expression calculatingly blank, although inside him it felt like he was ripping himself apart at the seams. When Harry finally spoke, he kept his tone distant and inquisitive.

“Did we,” he started, trailing off a bit and scratching at his sweaty hair, “did we just have sex?”

Louis couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Still so innocent yet still so entirely not. “Yeah,” Louis said with a dry nod. “Think we did.”

Harry nodded slowly, appearing to take in the information and analyze it for a few moments before speaking again. When he did, his tone was light, but there was a hint of desperation behind it that made Louis’ stomach churn. “So, was that just you getting what you wanted? Or was it you showing me… that I mean something to you?”

In any other situation, Louis would’ve scoffed at someone who asked such a question, would’ve told them to figure it out themselves and see them out unceremoniously. And as much as he wanted to say it, to tell Harry, ‘no, you mean nothing to me, you never have and you never will, you’ve been a booty call right from the very beginning,’ he couldn’t do that. Not to Harry.

Because Harry was sweet, and he was kind, and he was smart and funny and good-hearted and he had so much warmth and peace to spread, to give, to share with people, that Louis couldn’t be the one to ruin him.

But he couldn’t be the one to save him either, because Louis was no hero. He wasn’t valiant, or selfless, and he himself wasn’t worth saving. He cared enough about Harry as a person to not want to hurt him like that. So he said nothing. He just gave Harry a strained smile and sat with his knees to his chest, burying his nose between them and feeling smaller than he ever had in his entire life.

If he’d hurt Harry, it was hard to tell, because before Louis could register what was happening, he felt Harry’s fingers beneath his chin, lifting his face to press their lips together. He kissed him softly, once, twice, three times, and Louis couldn’t do much other than stare with half-lidded eyes as Harry’s lips moved to his forehead, his cheekbones, each one of his piercings, in lingering kisses that felt a lot like a goodbye.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered softly, his hand resting on Louis’ shoulder, and Louis’ eyebrows narrowed. What could he possibly be thanking him for?

He didn’t have time to answer, because before he could open his mouth Harry was pecking him there once more before making his way over to the door. He stopped as he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob, craning his head over his shoulder to look at Louis.

“You’re not an asshole, Louis,” Harry said quietly, with a defeated sigh. Louis looked down at his duvet as Harry opened the door, pausing in the frame to turn back and say, “You just draw yourself that way.”

And when he closed the door and Louis heard his footsteps padding quietly down the stairs, as though trying not to be heard, Louis pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and screamed for what felt like an entire hour.

Although, looking back on it, he may not have even made a sound.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god is it... a... a new CHAPTER?! Holy shit is this the apocalypse. Don't be surprised if the sky starts falling and shit starts blowing up. I'm not gonna bother making excuses about why it's been 3 months, if you follow my Tumblr (volouminous, follow for info on updates, I won't be answering inquiries on here), you know, so let's just get into the chapter. This is a long one, 13k (WHY?!?!?!) so prepare yourself. It's also pretty talky. I'm hoping it's not disappointing after such a long wait. Crossing my fingers! Feedback is lovely, and as usual a massive thank you to my betas, Emily, Maggie and Noemie (who stayed up with me until 6 am editing this beast of a chapter). Enjoy!

As Harry opened the door and limped inside, it suddenly felt as if every single one of his organs had relocated to the pit of his stomach, filling him up and weighing him down as he sank to the floor. His back pressed the door closed, his head tipping against the hard wood and leaning forward then slamming back again, over and over as a chorus of ‘stupid stupid stupid’ rang loudly in his ears.

He'd had sex with Louis. Jesus fucking Christ, he'd actually had sex with Louis. That was the last thing he should have done while confronting him, and he'd fucking done it. He felt stupid and weak, like no matter what Louis had said to him, even if he'd said Harry was the least important person on the entire planet, he still would've done it, because everything always came down to Louis where Harry was concerned, and it was fucking pathetic.

Pathetic and stupid.

"Harry?" He heard his mum's voice faintly from the kitchen, the sound of it growing clearer as Harry continued to bang his head against the door. "Harry, what's wrong?" She bent down, her knees crowding into Harry's sight as she shuffled closer.

Harry groaned, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. He trailed a hand through his hair and sighed, his expression pained. "A lot, to be honest," he said, throat dry.

Anne reached out and brushed a curl from his forehead, dragging her hand along his temple toward his jaw. "Looks like it," she said softly, concern evident in her voice. "Do you want to talk about it?" She rested her manicured hands on his raised knees. "We don't have to, if you don't want."

Harry looked up at her then, his breath hitching in his throat as he took in her appearance. She was so beautiful, with her long dark hair pulled into a messy bun and cheeks vibrant with a rosy flush, and he felt like he hadn't looked at her, truly looked at her, in so long. He was so caught up in himself and his own life and Louis, that he'd forgotten to nurture his relationship with the one person who really mattered at the end of the day, and he needed her to know he refused to do that any longer.

"Mum," he said, resting his hands over hers on his knees, "you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me, right?"

Her face fell a bit in confusion. "Of course I do, sweetheart," she said with a light chuckle, grasping his hands. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno," he said, eyes downcast, "I guess I just feel like... Ah, I just feel like I've been distant, you know? Like I've been so wrapped up in myself that I haven't spent much time with you at all, and I feel bad. I feel really bad."

When his eyes flickered toward her face, he found a smile across her lips and laughter in her eyes. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, releasing his hands and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She drew him against her chest, the angle slightly awkward due to their sitting positions, and stroked his hair gently. "You don't have to apologize for being a teenager. You're not the only one who gets wrapped up in their own head, you know." She pulled back and gave him a warm smile, which Harry returned somewhat weakly. His head dropped toward the floor again, and she used a finger to lift his chin and meet his eyes. "That's not what's got you in a strop, is it?" She asked playfully. "Because I can assure you, my feelings are far from hurt."

Harry paused for a moment, his lips pursed and eyes focused over Anne's shoulder. "No," he sighed eventually, "no, it's not."

"Well, are you gonna tell me what has, then?"

There was a long lull of silence as Harry pondered what exactly he wanted to say. Anne waited patiently, settling into a cross-legged position and stroking Harry's knees reassuringly. Harry was achingly grateful for her presence, as he'd always been, even when he had a difficult time processing that there were other people in the world besides himself and Louis, and suddenly felt the desire to tell her absolutely everything.

"Mum, do you..." He started, biting his lip around the next words, "well, I sort of, haven't been a hundred percent honest. About the things I've been doing, you know, since we moved here."

He raised his eyes reluctantly, wringing his fingers against his lap. Anne's expression was soft and knowing. She leaned forward secretively, resting her forehead against his as she whispered, "Are you talking about the weed?"

Harry's head jerked backward suddenly, hitting the door painfully. Anne laughed as he groaned in pain and rubbed the back of his head. He stared at her in wonder. "How the bloody hell did you know?"

"I'm not daft, you know. I was a kid once too, believe it or not. I had a life once, before I had you and Gems," she said, poking him in the side jovially. "You don't think I noticed the way you devoured your dinners? The way you could barely keep your eyes open when it was hardly nine o'clock?" She didn't sound angry in the slightest, more amused and fond, and Harry felt confusion cloud murkily inside his head.

"You're not angry?"

She shrugged, taking his hand and sighing meaningfully. "I suppose it's not something I would've chosen for you, or something I thought you'd ever do. But I didn't want to be _that mum_ that confronted her son with daggers in her eyes like, 'I know you've been smoking pot!' And you just... seemed to be handling yourself all right. You weren't acting out, you were still getting your homework done, still going to school and all that, and as a mother, what else could I want?" She smiled and rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, and Harry felt a surge of urgent love wrap around his heart.

"More than anything," she added after a few moments, "I was happy you had a friend, regardless of what shenanigans you two were getting up to. You've always been a smart kid, Harry. I trusted you enough to know you wouldn't do anything you'd regret." Harry swallowed thickly, grateful that Anne missed it, her eyes trained on their twined fingers. He wasn't quite ready to tell her she wasn't exactly right in her statement. Not quite yet. "Louis might not be the most ideal companion a mother would like her son to have," she said with a laugh, "but I could see how happy he made you, and who was I to judge him for looking a little different?"

She must have noticed the way his shoulders tensed and brows furrowed at the utterance of Louis' name, because her smile immediately dropped, hands tightening around Harry's. "Louis' the reason you're upset, though, isn't he?"

Harry gave her a weak smile. "You could say that." He sighed and raked the hand that wasn't curled around Anne's through his hair. "I never really told you, what me and Louis are to each other, have I?" Anne shook her head. "See, like... we're not really. Together, you know?" Harry cringed awkwardly at the implications, the details of his sex life the last thing he wanted his mother to know, and he gathered from the wan smile that tainted her features at his words that she shared the sentiment. "We're more than friends, but less than... you know." He continued hastily to avoid any potential uncomfortable silence at the topic. "And sometimes, it gets kind of complicated."

"Like you want it to be more?" She sounded genuinely interested. Harry was intensely grateful she didn't jump at the opportunity to engage in the safe sex talk. His mum had always been good like that, caring and protective but self-aware enough to realize that Harry didn't need to be babied, that he knew what he was doing and didn't require her to hold his hand with every step he took.

"No," he said, "I mean, yeah, of course I'd like it to be, but it's not like I've told him that. It's just..." He closed his eyes and sighed.

Truthfully, he was still reeling from his encounter with Louis, quite surprised he hadn't broken down yet, and even more surprised he was capable of forming coherent sentences.

Truthfully, he was having a hard time believing it even happened, already feeling disconnected from it, like it was some sort of out-of-body experience.

In many ways, it really was.

"So I take it," Anne prompted, after several moments of silence, "he doesn't feel the same way?"

"I don't know how he feels," he said, "'cause he's never told me. He doesn't, like, he doesn't talk about how he feels. Ever. He likes to pretend he doesn't at all. And I know he does, I know he feels, because I've seen it, so many times. You know he got a tattoo, on his wrist, with his mum and sisters' initials?" Anne gave him an impressed look, gesturing for him to continue. Harry gave her hand a squeeze, wordlessly thanking her for being such an intent listener. "Like he cares about them so much and I know he cares about me. I do."

"You seem really confident about that," she said. Not accusingly, not like she thought he might be wrong. Just an observation. Harry loved her so much.

"I am," he said passionately, shifting finally to mirror Anne's cross-legged position. She shifted slightly to accommodate him, never relinquishing her grip on his hand. "But like... he says he doesn't believe in love." His stomach sank at the admission, his posture sliding downward against the door with it. God, that was a hard thing to say. "And he doesn't want a relationship. And I'm okay with that, I really am, but I don't like it when he pretends I mean nothing to him."

"Nobody would," she said softly, reaching forward to absently brush his hair from his forehead. He leaned forward into the touch, sighing contently when her fingers slid into his curls and scratched lightly at his scalp.

"Anyway," he said, his sense of relaxation at his mum's hand in his hair fading as she drew it back, "we got into a fight about it, and now I don't know what to do. I know what I should do."

"And what's that?"

"I should break it off with him," he said, as if it was the most obvious assertion in the world, and it was. "I should refuse to be treated like that and tell him I'm not gonna stand for it."

Anne gave him a knowing smile. "But that's not what you want to do?"

Harry glared at her, cursing her for being able to see right through him at all times. She'd always told him he wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was becoming more blatant with each passing day how painfully right she was. "No," he said with a groan, gripping the hairs that curled against his temple roughly, "I don't, because _I get it_. I get why he's like this. He hasn't had it easy, his parents got divorced and his mum has it rough and she has the shittiest taste in blokes. It makes it hard for him to trust people. _I get it_." He sighed deeply, dragging his fingers across his face and perching them under his chin. "It makes it hard for me to stay cross with him."

They were quiet for a few long moments, Harry leaning back against the door, exhausted, defeated, and emotionally worn out. Anne sat calmly, her hands clasped in her lap and lips twisted into a considering expression. She appeared deep in thought. Harry watched her carefully. She took a deep breath eventually, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear and opening her mouth to speak. She let it hang open for a few seconds, gathering her words carefully before speaking. "Sweetheart," she started, voice gentle, cautious, "I... I really like Louis. I haven't spent much time with him but the time I have, I always got the sense he cared for you. Genuinely." There was a catch in her voice, as if her words were leading towards a 'but', and Harry's suspicions were confirmed when she continued, "But. I think you should just let bygones be bygones."

Harry eyed her warily. "What do you mean?"

"I get why you're... hesitant to break things off. I do. But I really think you need to put yourself first. Do you know what I mean?" Harry tilted his head to the left, eyebrows furrowing. Was she telling him to be selfish? "You'd like to help him, wouldn't you? Help him overcome these issues he has?"

Harry swallowed, feeling unfairly exposed and scrutinized. Of course he wanted to help Louis. Why wouldn't he? Louis needed to be helped, even if he didn't want it. He told her as much.

"Right, I get that too. I get all of it, but Harry, I don't mean to sound callous, but his problems are not yours. You don't have to abandon him, but you do need to take a step back and realize that these are his choices. He's choosing to think the way he does, and nothing you say is going to change that. And it shouldn't be your priority. Do you understand that?"

Harry did. He honestly, truly did, because despite his overwhelming desire to help Louis, to love him and fix him and mould him into a more whole, loving person, he knew, in his head, that it wasn't his job to do that. He'd convinced himself of that a long time ago.

His heart's just had a bit of a hard time catching up.

"I know you want to be there for him," Anne elaborated, "and you can be, but you need to put yourself first. You can't put other people's happiness before your own, Harry, no matter how much they mean to you. And I know Louis means a whole lot." Harry swallowed and nodded. His heart was currently a mess, torn between anger and sympathy, but there was no denying how much Louis had come to mean to him.

"I'm not gonna tell you what to do, okay? That's not _my_ job. But I do think you need figure this out, and remember that you're allowed to come first. You're not selfish for putting yourself first."

She gave him a loving smile. Harry stared at her for what felt like hours, so many different emotions coursing through his veins he was sure he could pass out with it. In his mind, there was love and gratitude for the amazing woman sat in front of him, pride that he was graced with the honour to call her his mother. His stomach was swimming in butterflies, uncertainty twisting around and curling in his belly as he processed her words, yet still made no sense of them. Most painfully, his heart clenched with love and frustration and anger and impatience toward Louis who, even with his wonderful, beautiful mother perched in front of him, was still the only person he could see.

"You don't have to figure it out right away," she said, patting her palm against his thigh, "it might take a little while, but I want you to think a little bit about your happiness for a change. Can you do that?"

Too exhausted and drained to respond, Harry left his neck fall backwards until his head was resting against the door again, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath. He just wanted to rest, to sleep and allow this entire fucked up day to drift out of his subconscious, but his skin still itched and prickled in all the areas Louis had touched him, his body thrumming with sense memory of Louis' body against his. He'd managed to stay focused throughout the majority of the conversation, but once the talking seized, Harry's heart resumed its frantic beat, and a mantra of ' _I had sex with Louis I had sex with Louis'_  richocheted around his brain like a pinball.

"Well, I'll take your silence as a sign this conversation is over," Anne said with a sigh, voice straining as she pushed herself off the ground into a standing position. Harry opened his eyes slowly, his lids sagging with exhaustion and anxiety, finding her standing over him, a sympathetic lilt to her lips. "You'll figure it out, sweetheart," she assured him, bending over to drop a kiss to his head, "just don't forget about yourself, right?"

"Right," Harry said with a nod, though her words still refused to sink in.

"I'm going to make some dinner. That's actually what I was doing when you interrupted," she said with a teasing grin. Harry missed it, his head tilted to the right against the door. "Spaghetti okay?"

"Sure," he said blankly, though truthfully the question went straight through his ear and out the other. He grunted as she padded back toward the kitchen, pushing himself upward so he was sitting with his knees drawn to his chest once again. He rested his chin on the bony jut of them, wrapping his arms around his calves and slouching miserably.

God, he was completely fucked.

*

"So I suppose from your point of view," Cher said, taking a drag and passing the cigarette to Harry, “you and the great burn-out Louis Tomlinson are in the midst of the romance of the century?" She chuckled heartily.

Harry dragged his fingers through his hair, taking a deep drag and exhaling dejectedly. “Sounds a bit stupid when you put it like that."

"Isn’t it though?" She said, nudging his shoulder. “There’s tons of blokes out there, Harry, ones that won’t use you and break your heart over and over."

Normally, were Harry to discuss the issues within his life, most commonly involving Louis (the fact of which Harry was growing to mildly resent), he'd go to Nick or Gemma. Their brutal honesty combined with their genuine concern for Harry's well-being beneficial to Harry's all too frequently confused state of mind. It was finals week at university, however, leaving the two tied up with studying and, in Nick's case, going out with a bang for the last week of his radio show. Harry didn't want to be a burden to them in their desperate times, so that's how he ended up sitting on the very bridge he and Louis had so shamelessly vandalized a few months before with Cher, explaining to her the details of his and Louis' falling out.

He and Cher had become quite good friends in the short space of time since the performance, and, although she wasn't his ideal confidante, given that she was still a fairly new presence in his life, she was actually quite a good listener, and was much like Nick and Gemma in her straightforwardness.

Harry was in dire need of straightforward in that moment.

"He didn't break my heart, though," Harry objected quietly, staring down at his crossed legs. "He's cynical, Cher, he's really, really cynical. And it keeps him from opening up to people, you know?" Cher rolled her eyes and removed the cigarette from Harry's hand, bringing it up to her crimson-stained lips. Harry shifted onto his knees and leaned forward, "Do you know what his home life is like?"

"Oh, here we go, then," she said, standing up and walking toward the railing of the bridge. She turned and leaned back against it, resting her elbows on the edge. "Enlighten me."

Harry sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, standing slowly to join her. "His parents, they had a really bad divorce..."

"Did your parents not get a divorce as well?" Harry nodded, eyes wide. "How many kids' parents have gotten divorced? Do they all turn out to be cynical pricks?"

"No, I'm not... I'm not trying to excuse him, okay? I'm not saying it makes it okay. But that's not even it. Like, his mum's boyfriend is a complete arsehole, and she just lets him be. He's awful to Louis. Completely awful. And for all I know he's awful to his sisters too. Louis hasn't got it easy."

Cher finished off the cigarette and threw it over the ledge, leaning on her side and exhaling the smoke toward Harry. "I'm sure he doesn't. But like, that's not your problem, you know."

Harry sighed again. She was right; it wasn't his problem. But that wasn't how Harry looked at things. He thought back to what his mum told him; 'it's not your job to fix him'. But was it really such a bad thing that he wanted to?

"You know what? Let's not talk about Louis. Fuck Louis for a minute," Cher said, leaning into Harry's personal space. Harry flinched back slightly. She poked him on the nose. "Let's talk about you, and the fact I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

She leaned back and regarded him with a thin smile, and Harry cocked his head to the side curiously. "What do you mean?"

"It's like," Cher began, gesturing wildly with her hands, "it's like he's all you think about. You're constantly like, 'Louis, Louis, Louis', 'me and Louis, me and Louis', and you never stop to think about yourself." Harry gaped at her, but she continued before he could protest. "Don't even try to tell me that's not true. It's like you think he's the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you know, maybe that's true in some ways, but God, Harry, he's not the only thing that exists."

Her words sunk in with a heavy thump, and Harry realized, only with minimal reluctance, that she was rather correct. Louis wasn't the only thing that mattered to Harry, not by a long shot, but sometimes it felt like he was the only thing Harry had going for him. Like he was the only bright spot in an otherwise mundane existence.

"You're not saying anything," Cher said after a lengthy pause, "so you know I'm right." Harry fixed her with a long, probing look, biting hard on the inside of his cheeks, before sighing and giving her a short nod. She was. "And I don't even know why. You're so much more than his little play thing, Harry."

"Christ, can you not?" Harry snapped. "I'm not his fucking play thing, all right? Don't you think that if I thought I was being used, I wouldn't put up with it? I'm not weak. I've never let him toss me around. I've always been sure he cared about me, and I still am." Cher seemed a bit taken aback, and Harry groaned in frustration, kicking his foot hard against the bridge. "Look, Louis' not perfect all right, I know that. He's far from it, and he doesn't know how to show it, but I know he cares about me. I know it."

Cher's expression held a soft mix of sympathy and pity, contrasting starkly with the garish red of her lips and dramatic, sweeping curl of her eyelashes, and Harry hated it. Hated being seen as the poor little victim in love with the bad boy who would never feel the same way. He wasn't.

"I'm not a victim, Cher," he said firmly, "I'm a lot more than that."

"I know, but that's not what this is about." Harry gave her a puzzled look. "I don't know Louis that well. Like I know him, but we've never been close. But I know he never gives anyone more than five minutes of his time, and this thing you guys have had going, it's been going on for a while, right?" Harry nodded. "So, like, he probably cares about you, in his own way." She reached out and rested her manicured fingers on Harry's shoulder. "I'm not trying to take that away from you, Harry. I'm trying to make you see something else."

"And what's that?"

She grinned broadly. "That there's more out there for you than Louis fucking Tomlinson. I said before, there are tons of other blokes out there, but you completely ignored that and started defending Louis. It's always Louis, Louis, Louis." Her face turned more serious, and Harry briefly thought she may be even more difficult to figure out than Louis. The fact that she was manic and energetic one minute, wise and serious the next, combined with her reputation as a floozy (which Cher herself confirmed was mostly true), and her heavy make-up and outrageous wardrobe, she may have been the most interesting person Harry had ever met.

"Did you know," she continued, grasping Harry's hands in hers and leaning in close, "after our performance the other week, literally half the girls in the school were hanging off of me, begging for your number?

Harry's eyes widened. He really hadn't noticed; he'd been so out of it all week, half-heartedly studying for impending exams and thinking about, of course, Louis, to really pay any attention to what was going on around him, although he swore he'd seen a few staring at him out of the corner of his eye while he was in the library during his lunch. He'd assumed he was only paranoid, but apparently not. He tried fruitlessly to bite back a grin. "Really?"

"Yes!" She said enthusiastically. "Everyone wanted a piece of you. They wanted your sugar all over them." Harry couldn't not laugh at the pun.

"You did tell them I'm gay, right?" He was feeling a tad lighter already, despite the uncertainty he felt regarding Louis still looming in the back of his mind.

"And crush their dreams?" She said with a mock gasp. "I would never." She undermined her statement with a sly wink. "I told them you had a big, tattooed hulk of a boyfriend they'd have to answer to if they tried anything."

Harry blushed wildly at the reference of Louis as his boyfriend, although he couldn't help but chuckle at Cher referring to him as "big" and "hulking" when Louis was anything but. "Don't know if I'd ever call Louis 'big'. You know I'm taller than him and I'm barely 5'10", right?"

"Yeah, and you know he's not really your boyfriend." Well, okay. Ouch.

Harry grimaced slightly. "Right."

"Anyway, my point is you're hot, and Louis' not the only one who thinks so, yeah? If you finished with him, it's not like you'd never find anyone else."

"I know that," Harry said firmly, staring up at the cloudy sky. It was nearing half seven; he'd have to be home soon for supper. He and his mum had been steadily growing close again ever since their talk - not that they weren't always - and Harry didn't want to screw that up. "I'm not afraid of that. It's just... I don't want to finish with him."

Cher stared at him for a minute, releasing his hands to curl her fingers around each other. She leaned against the side of the bridge, her lips twisted in what appeared to be a look of consideration. Then she kicked herself away from the railing with the heel of her boot, stepping around Harry and walking backwards as she said, "What do you want to do with your life, Harry?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, puzzled by the random change of topic, following Cher and scratching the back of his head. "Huh?"

"You're 17," she said matter-of-factly, "generally the age where people figure out what their interests are and what they want to do with their life. What are your interests, Harry?"

She spoke these words with an air of condescension, as if she already knew the answer, and Harry couldn't deny that she probably did. Harry didn't really have many other hobbies outside of spending time with Louis and his friends, and it only then settled in that, in the nearly 8 months he'd spent with Louis, Harry had barely given thought to his future even once. What was he good at? What did he like to do?

When Harry's silence had been stretched thin, Cher laughed. "See? You don't even know." She pursed her lips and held up two fingers, index and middle pressed together, tapping them against her chin pensively. "All right. I've got a challenge for you, Styles." Harry nodded eagerly and listened. He sensed that Cher was trying to help him, and he was very much in desperate need of help. Cher lowered her fingers to tap Harry's shoulder and said, "Three things that make you happy. Go, and please, may none of them involve he-who-must-not-be-named. Please," she added petulantly.

Harry chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck and thinking hard. "I like making people happy," he said earnestly, leaning his back against the railing. "That makes me happy. And, um, I like doing things. Like crazy things. Going on adventures and all that. I didn't get to do much of it back in Cheshire. It was really small, not eventful really. And I didn't have friends, either."

Cher appeared surprised by this, her cherry red lips falling open in a wide gape. "Why? You're one of the nicest blokes I've talked to, and you're like, proper cool, you know?" She stood next to him, her hip resting against the railing.

"I don't know, I just," Harry started, "Nobody was ever really interested in me, you know? Like nobody ever came up to me and talked to me. And I was just. I've never been good at approaching people. If they come to me, it's a different story, but," he laughed self-deprecatingly, carding his fingers through his curls. "I'm a bit rubbish at starting things."

Cher appeared to consider that for a moment, opening and closing her mouth a few times. "I guess that's why Louis' so important to you, yeah? First person who ever really gave a damn?"

Harry's heart gave a painful lurch, and his throat felt parched and tight. "Yeah," he said, slightly strained around the lump that had formed in his throat. "Something like that."

Things were quiet for a few moments, nothing but the soft bristle of cool winds and the frantic pacing of cars beneath them filling the silence. Then Cher bumped her hip against Harry without warning and said playfully, "You never did tell me the third thing." Harry looked at her, his eyes met with a garish display of glitter and ink-black eyelashes. "But I think I can guess what it is." She didn't give him a chance to respond before saying confidently, "Singing."

"Singing?" Harry said with a dry laugh. He was trying, and failing, to avoid thinking about Louis, and was beginning to become a bit impatient with his inability to focus on anything else whenever his name was mentioned. When Cher nodded enthusiastically, Harry gave a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, yeah, I did like singing with you. A lot. It was a lot of fun."

"Yes, it was!" She said brightly, swatting his shoulder. "And guess what? You were good at it. All of it, even the dancing, who knew you had it in you?" _Louis certainly didn't_ , Harry thought, memories of skin against skin, fingers knotting in hair and sliding across tattoos, insistent fingers pressing into him, flooded through him. "You were great, Harry, and you enjoyed yourself."

Harry smiled at the memories. So little time ago, barely two weeks, yet somehow a reminder of a simpler time. "I never pictured myself as a singer, you know," he said after a pause, shifting to lean forward and drape his arms over the railing. "It's all kind of new."

"Exactly! And that's the whole point of you being here, innit? You said you love doing crazy things, and what we did the other week, that was crazy. That was monumental." Harry thought she might be exaggerating a bit, but she was so endearingly enthusiastic and bouncy he didn't dare comment. "It made you happy, Harry, and do you know who wasn't a part of it? Louis."

Harry frowned slightly at her words, because that wasn't entirely true. Sure, the process hadn't involved him in any circumstance, and he had enjoyed himself on his own merits, but Louis was still very much on his mind. He had done it, in part, to impress him.

"Do you see what I'm trying to do here, Harry?" Cher reached over the railing and took both of his hands in hers once again, probing him out of his thoughts. "I'm trying to make you see that you can do things without him." There she went again; from bouncy and vivacious to comforting and wise in the span of seconds. She really was something else.

"I know I can," he sighed, staring down at their entwined fingers. "It's just. Regardless of all the stuff that's happened, he's still the best mate I've ever had."

"Sure about that?" She asked, her voice skeptical, but eyes humorous. Harry nodded. "Yeah, well, he can still be your friend or whatever. But, I think you know it's a really shite idea to keep doing... whatever the bloody hell it is you two are doing."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his hands grow clammy in Cher's loosening grip. He sighed heavily and gripped them tighter. "I know." And he did.

"You need positive shit in your life, you know? Not just some, fuck-buddy with issues you shouldn't have to fix." Cher was being blunt, but Harry knew in his heart of hearts she was right. He cared about Louis, would always care about Louis for as long as he lived, but Louis' issues were his own to fix, not Harry's. He would never dream of abandoning him to deal with them on his own; no, if Louis wanted to talk, Harry would be there for him. Anytime, anywhere. But it was Louis' job to get there, not Harry's to guide him, and Harry was beginning to realize that with increasing clarity.

Maybe he and Louis could just be friends. Maybe it would be better for both of them. Maybe Harry could finally find something he loved outside of a heart-wrenchingly small yet all too big mess of a boy who'd stolen his heart from the get-go. Maybe Harry was ready to be indenpendent.

These thoughts coursed through Harry's mind as he released Cher's hands, and surprisingly, none of them sounded like the end of the world. In fact, for the first time in what felt like weeks, Harry felt good.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Harry lifted his chin to look at Cher, and the smile he rewarded her was blinding in its brightness. Cher matched it with a toothy grin of her own. "Listen," she said, licking her lips and staining her tongue purplely pink, "there's an open mic night at The Slinky Cat this weekend. You should come and sing."

Harry blushed madly around a grin. This was all so new. When would he have time to process this? "This is fucking crazy," he laughed. "How exactly did I become a pop star overnight?"

"I wouldn't say you're quite there yet, dreamer. Make sure your head doesn't inflate," she said with a smirk, reaching out to flick his nose. "But who knows what the future entails, right?"

"You sure that's not a fantasy, Chez?" Harry wasn't sure if he believed in such a thing as fantasy.

Cher's grin faded into a soft smile just as the crackle of thunder sounded above and drops of rain began to splash into their hair. "What’s the point in living if you don’t do all you can to make it the life you want to live?"

Harry's heart thudded as Cher tugged his hand and began to run across the bridge to shelter, and he thought, as the rain splattered across their faces and drenched their bodies from head to toe, that he'd never heard anything more beautiful, or true, in his entire life.

*

Harry had no idea what he was doing.

Cher had told him, point blank, as she was shuffling through his closet in an attempt to find the most sensible outfit for his performance - she ended up settling on a simple black t-shirt, his tightest pair of black jeans and his favourite brown boots - that Zayn, Liam and Niall were also performing, and because of this, Louis would most likely be there.

He'd known this, yet somehow, he found himself willingly following her to the cab parked outside his house, his heart relocating further into the pit of his stomach with every step he took and giving a painful thud as Cher shut the door with finality.

He remained silent for most of the ride, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against his thigh. Cher must have sensed his trepidation, as she placed a comforting hand on his elbow a few minutes into the ride and looped her arm through his.

Harry wasn't sure exactly what was making him so nervous; if it was the fact that Cher had landed him a spot in The Slinky Cat's open mic night, or if it was the prospect of seeing Louis after a week without contact, especially with his new resolve in mind.

He'd gotten the chance to see Nick a few days before, and there was one exchange between them that stuck with him, ping-ponged around his brain endlessly until he was almost dizzy from it.

_"You think you love him, don’t you?" Nick had said, his smile all too knowing._

_"Don’t say it like that," Harry had replied quietly._

_"Like what?"_

_"Like it’s not possible."_

Harry continued with his life, as he always did, but Louis was never far from his mind, reminders of him splattered everywhere he went. The bleachers Harry walked past on his way home from school, which he and Louis had christened more times he could count. The graffiti scattered along the sides of buildings around the city, and Harry was hit with the memories of his birthday, the night on the bridge, blissed-out and fucked out and high on E and each other.

The spit stains that marked the pavement, reminding him of the habitual way Louis would spit while smoking a cigarette, which many would find repulsive but Harry couldn’t help but watch. Watch the way Louis’ mouth curled around the saliva as it was hurled to the ground, the way his tongue flicked between his thin but gloriously pink lips to lap up the retreating moisture.

Louis was everywhere, yet somehow, Harry was unable to find him.

Harry suspected he was about to, as the cab pulled up in front of The Slinky Cat and Cher pulled 20 quid from her pocket, muttering her thanks and encouraging him to keep the change. Before the driver could protest, Cher grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him from the car, slamming the door shut and waving enthusiastically as the cab pulled away and drove off. She turned toward him with a wide, manic grin, taking his hands in hers and pulling him toward the back of the line of people standing outside the club. There weren't many, a few young-looking couples and a group of punk-emo looking kids, who couldn't be much older than Cher.

"You ready, love?"

Harry felt his face go hot. "Was I supposed to pick a song?" He had sort of forgotten about Cher's plan since she suggested it, too caught up with studying and school and the Louis situation to give it any thought. He hadn't remembered until Cher called him that very day and told him to shine his dancing shoes.

Cher laughed and rolled her eyes. "Probably. But the guitarist here, Mark, he has a list of songs he knows how to play, so when it's your turn just ask him to see it and pick one you know. You're bound to know one, right?" She nodded and moved forward in line, but Harry pulled her back.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is. I mean, if you don't want to do it, then don't, I'm not gonna force you. But I think you could really enjoy yourself." She reached up to pinch his cheek, using her other hand to ruffle his hair. "Don't worry so much."

They were next in line, and Cher mumbled, "Be cool," in his direction, her mouth barely moving as she dragged them forward with a beaming smile. She greeted the bouncer, a brawny man of average height and a shaved head, with a kiss on the cheek, maintaining her grip on Harry's hand. They were clearly familiar with each other, as they chatted amicably for a few moments, the bouncer barely sparing Harry a glance before ushering them inside.

The club looked very much like he remembered, the same large, elevated stage crowding the back, the same bar located to the side of the stage, the same mob of people surrounding each area, only with different faces colouring the crowd. The lights were even dimmer this time, and Harry could make out from where he stood at the door three figures packing up equipment on stage. He'd left his glasses at home, so from the distance he was unable to make out their faces, but it was obvious from the slope of their hair and the dark stains that appeared to cover their arms, they were just the people Harry had been expecting to see.

"Aw, we just missed the lads!" She said with a sigh. "Pity." She continued to lead them further toward the bar, carefully manoeuvering them between the various warm bodies encompassing the club.

But Harry's mind was elsewhere, his eyes frantically searching the club for someone very particular, and when they finally set on the bar, Harry's breath caught in his throat.

Louis was standing with his back against the bar, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his jeans. His hair styled was upwards in lazy spikes, folding over each other like grass in the wind, his eyeliner smudged thick and smoky in a ring around his eyes. Even from a distance, Harry was blown away by how incredible he looked.

But what truly caught Harry's attention and crushed it in its iron fist wasn't the way Louis looked tonight, nor the tight clench of his fingers around his glass of alcohol.

It was the bloke next to him, slight, blonde, and muscular, facing Louis' side with a possessive grip on his waist and his mouth by his ear, who, judging by the way his mouth curled around the words and his tongue flicked against Louis' earlobe, probably wasn't inquiring about the weather.

"Hey, Cher?" He said, clutching Cher's wrist, stopping them a few feet away from the bar. She eyed him knowingly, a sympathetic lilt to her purple-painted lips. "You got a fag?"

She sighed, reaching into her purse and handing one to him. "That bad, huh?"

"I'm fine. Just, need some air."

She raised her eyebrows but nonetheless let him walk back toward the entrance. The bouncer eyed him as he exited. Harry lifted the fag and wagged it front of him with a thin smile. He nodded and turned back toward the waiting patrons.

Harry realized with a groan that he'd forgotten to ask for a lighter. He was prepared to go back inside to badger her for one, when a familiar figure brushed past him, gaze directed intently on the phone in his hands.

"Liam?"

Liam turned around with a start, eyes widening in surprise then softening in recognition. "Harry!" He said jovially, friendly as ever. He slipped his phone in his pocket and approached Harry, slapping him on the shoulder companionably. "What brings you here? Haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah," Harry said, voice hoarse. His throat was still dry from seeing that bloke pressed against Louis just moments before, and, truthfully, he was still trying to collect himself. It wasn't that Harry thought he and Louis were ever exclusive, or that Louis wouldn't continue to sleep with other people. He knew that, or at least he should have, but to see it, up close, personal, and in the flesh, was a bit hard to stomach.

The fact that they hadn't seen each other in a week, and Louis was allowing random blokes to buy him drinks rather than actively trying to make things right with Harry, made it just that tiny bit worse. _Get it together, Styles. Stop letting him affect you. You're stronger than that._

"So, how are you then, Liam?" Harry asked flatly. "You doing all right?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm great!" He took a step back but was still close enough that Harry could see the thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead. "The lads and I just finished playing, actually. Did you see it?"

His voice and smile held an almost child-like enthusiasm, and it was so endearing Harry couldn't help but smile. Harry had always liked Liam, even if, out of the three lads, he probably knew him the least. "No, actually, just missed it."

"Shame," Liam said, as if he was genuinely disappointed Harry hadn't gotten to see them. "I'm actually just out here to call Dani, the service in there is crap. She wanted me to call her right after I finished. She's a bit clingy like that, always making me call her right after I do things..." He trailed off, staring at the sky with a confused sort of expression, as if he'd gone off on a tangent he hadn't intended to. "Anyway," he said, "what brings you here? You looking for Louis?"

Harry's heart leapt at the sound of his name. "Um, no, actually," he clarified. "I'm here with Cher. She's at the bar, I just came out for a fag."

Liam's expression sobered. "Oh. Cher Lloyd?" Harry nodded, biting back the urge to snark, 'Are there really any other Chers 'round here?' Liam gave him a look, the look, and Harry nearly groaned before he even broached the question. "Are you two -"

"No," Harry said with a resigned laugh, staring at the ground to privately roll his eyes. "We're friends. I'm not even into girls." Liam nodded, and Harry looked at him seriously, feeling a surge of defense toward his new friend, "You know, just 'cause she sleeps around, doesn't mean she can't have guy friends. She does have standards."

"Oh, no, no," Liam said, waving his hands in front of him defensively, "no, Cher's a really nice girl. I like her a lot. I'd never, you know, judge her or anything." Harry nodded, satisfied with the answer, before Liam continued, "You know her and Niall actually hooked up once? In year 10. Niall had the maddest crush on her, and there was this party -" Liam seemed to realize he'd said too much, as he caught wind of Harry's raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Harry had always observed that Liam really didn't have much of a filter when it came to conversation. "Um, so..." He said after an awkward silence, "do you want me to tell Louis you're here?"

Harry stared at him curiously. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" His brow furrowed sternly. "Did he do something?"

Harry almost laughed at the predictability of it all. "You're assuming it was all him?"

Liam shrugged. "Just the nature of the beast."

"Fair enough," Harry said with a nod. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you. Bitch and moan about it, and all that."

"I don’t know," Liam said, shrugging sheepishly. "Louis doesn’t really talk to me about that kind of stuff. Well, anyone, really, but me especially. Says I’m too soft."

Harry nodded, giving Liam a quick once-over. Despite having as many tattoos and piercings as Louis and the others, something about the warm, gentle gleam of his large brown eyes gave him more of a lost puppy feel than intimidating thug. "And are you?”

"Well," Liam sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket and absentmindedly tapping out a text, "probably, but Louis' definition of soft is a lot different than most people." Liam looked up at him then, slipping his phone back into his pocket and stepping closer. "Look, I don't know what happened with you guys, and I can't speak for Louis, but me and the lads like you a lot. We really do."

Harry was startled by the sincerity of his voice, even more surprised by the statement itself. Since when? "Even Zayn?"

Liam laughed and gave him a light slap on the shoulder. "Let's just put it this way: the fact that you've managed to keep your head on straight after spending so much time with Louis, is worthy of a lot of respect in his book." Liam smiled and gave Harry's shoulder a few more quick pats, staring forward thoughtfully. "Zayn really does know him best."

Harry swallowed, nervousness swelling in his gut. "Do you think he's worth it?" He asked, his voice small. "Louis, I mean."

Looking at him curiously, Liam dropped his hand from his shoulder and stepped away from Harry with a sigh. He stayed silent for a few moments, scratching his wrist with his lips curled inward. "I don't know," he said finally. "The thing about Louis is. He's not heartless, not even close to it, but he's pretty damn good at pretending he is."

A heavy lump formed in Harry's throat. His heart thumped furiously in his ears, his pupils drowning in red.

"You coming in?" Liam said, somehow already at the door.

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice rough and worn, like an old shoe with a broken sole, "I'm actually gonna be singing, so..."

"Brilliant!" He said, his eyes lighting up. He opened his mouth to say something else, but faltered when the brawny bouncer turned to fix him with a withering glare. "Sorry, mate, gotta go, blocking the door," he said in a rush. "See you in there!"

Liam disappeared into the club. Harry inhaled deeply, holding it in for several long seconds as he leaned back against the wall. He closed his eyes, startling slightly when a crackling noise sounded nearby. He realized as he looked down that he had been, unknowingly, clenching his fists, thus crushing the cigarette he'd forgotten in his palm.

Groaning and tossing the cigarette to the ground, Harry buried his face in his hands, bunching the curls that lay across his forehead in his hand and tugging roughly. Christ, he really needed to get it the fuck together.

_Look at the evidence, he told himself. Louis might care about you, but he made his intentions clear. He's never going to want to be more, and that's his choice, you can't change that. He's standing in there right now with a bloke pressed to his side, probably gonna get his kit off later. How many times do you think he's done that since you started things? This isn't gonna work. You gotta think about yourself. Finish things. You can do it._

Harry repeated this to himself over and over as he pushed himself off the wall to return to the club. Passing the bouncer with a curt wave, the last few words bounced around in his mind as he made his way to where Cher stood at the bar, drink in hand and Louis nowhere in sight. All it took was a cursory glance around the place to spot Louis together with Zayn, in the stage area, watching indifferently as a petite blonde girl strummed her guitar on-stage, humming a song Harry didn't recognize.

When he reached Cher, a somber expression on his face, she gripped him by the arm and led him toward the backstage area, behind the curtain of the stage, and introduced him to Mark, the guitarist, a tall, lanky boy, with wavy, sandy blonde hair and faint stubble speckled across his chin and jaw. He looked to be in his mid-20s. Harry wasn't really all there, his mind wandering as Cher thrust the song list into his hand and told him to hurry up and pick a song, as he was on next.

"You all right, Haz?" She asked. Harry settled his eyes on the only song from the set list that he knew, _'Somewhere Out There'_ by Our Lady Peace, then looked up at Cher dazedly. "You know you don't have to do this, right? I just thought it'd be good for you, you know? To indulge yourself a bit, but if you really don't want to..."

"No," Harry said firmly, quickly snapping himself out of his reverie. No, he was going to do this. He was going to do this and he wasn't going to think about Louis in the audience and he wasn't going to sing for him either. He was done with that. He was done being weak for Louis, he was done letting every little thing he did affect him, and most of all, he was done holding himself back from what could truly make him happy.

He needed to be a positive influence in his own life, before he could be a positive influence in Louis'.

"All right, mate," Mark said, coming over to pat Harry on the shoulder. "You ready, or what?"

Not at all. His heart was hammering against his chest so furiously hard Harry was afraid it might break a rib. "Yeah," he said, pointing to the song name on the piece of paper. Mark nodded and retreated to grab his guitar.

The sweat was already beginning to gather deep within Harry's pores. He took several deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling several times, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He could do this. He could definitely do this.

At Mark's, 'come on, mate,' Cher gave Harry a tight hug and a smacking kiss on the neck. When Harry squirmed and looked at her wildly, Cher laughed. "Didn't want you to get lipstick anywhere visible!" She pinched his bum and gave his back a comforting rub. "Good luck, Haz. You'll smash it, I know you will!" She gave a fist bump before scurrying off, and Harry grinned weakly at her retreating form.

He turned to Mark, who was staring at him expectantly. The sweat continuing to build at his forehead and drip down his nose, Harry swallowed and nodded, following Mark onto the stage and settling in front of the mic. His heart thrashed violently in his chest as he stared into the crowd. Nobody noticed his presence yet, all chatting amicably and drinking amongst themselves, and Harry definitely did not look for Louis.

Except that he did, and time nearly froze when he discovered Louis was staring right at him.

Harry startled visibly, his body jerking and mouth falling open, as their eyes met, while Louis remained eerily calm, as if he was staring right through him. Zayn continued to speak in his ear, as if he hadn't yet noticed Harry, while Louis stared forward, appearing to be very much not listening. The air between them was charged and thick with tension, transcending the numerous feet of distance and burning Harry's sweaty skin.

The seconds stretched between them, neither diverting their eyes. Had either of them even blinked? It continued to stretch until Harry spotted Zayn out of the corner of his eye, staring at him with a vaguely nauseous expression. Harry's gaze flickered to Zayn briefly before tearing away completely. He found both the audience and Mark, perched upon a stool with his guitar in hand and foot tapping against the ground impatiently, staring at him intently.

"Oh, um..." Harry started, clearing his throat. "Hi. I'm not really sure if I'm, uh, supposed to introduce myself, but. I'm Harry, and I'm gonna be singing." He paused and gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Obviously."

The audience laughed, although it sounded horrifyingly closer to pity than it did genuine amusement, and God, Harry wanted to die. But he couldn't die on stage, that would be incredibly awkward, even more awkward than he felt standing there silently. He heard Mark sigh behind him, the tapping of his foot growing more vigorous and incessant.

Taking a final deep breath, Harry turned and gave him a final nod, clearing his mind and closing his eyes. He wrapped his arms around the stand and dragged himself closer until his lips were pressed against the mic, hoping the soft sounds of acoustic would lull him into a state of tranquility. He felt his racing heart slow and his nerves calm as the guitar picked up, and he took a final deep breath before pressing further against the mic and opening his mouth.

He could do this.

_Last time I talked to you, you were lonely and out of place_

_You were looking down on me, lost out in space_

_Laid underneath the stars, strung out and feeling brave_

_Watch the red orange glow, watch it float away_

 

His voice was as shaky as his hands as he began, so he gripped the mic tighter, moulding his body against the long line of the stand and keeping his eyes closed. He could sing, he knew that. He'd sung this song, as well as others, countless times in his room, and the only difference now were the dozens of people that stood below him, watching him, their gazes judgemental and scrutinizing.

That was a bit different, a _lot_ different, but Harry couldn't think of that now. So he kept his eyes focused, focused on the lyrics and the way his mouth formed around the words.

 

_Down here in the atmosphere, garbage and city lights_

_We're gonna save our tired soul, you're gonna save our lives_

_I turned on the radio to find you on satellite_

_I'm waiting for the sky to fall, I'm waiting for a sign_

_And all we are, is all so far_

 

As he merged into the chorus, his body betrayed him, his eyes flying open and settling on Louis as the words escaped his mouth passionately.

Louis' eyes remained unreadable.

 

_You're falling back to me, the star that I can't see_

 

_I know you're out there, somewhere out there_

 

_You're falling out of reach, defying gravity, yeah_

 

_I know you're out there, somewhere out there_

 

He leaned his forehead against the mic, licking his lips and cursing this stupid pull, this stupid hold Louis continued to have over him. He'd resolved not to look at Louis during the performance, not to make the song about him, but it was almost impossible, with the way Louis' lifeless eyes and slack expression clawed at his heart and the lyrics wrapped around the memories of Louis resting in the back of his mind.

 _Well, this is the last time you're gonna get to look at him like this_ , Harry told himself, _so you might as well make it last._

Still fearful everything in his eyes would give him away, Harry lifted his eyes once again with a sigh and continued to sing after the short instrumental break. Now that Louis was all he saw, Harry felt his nerves quickly melt away into raw, uninhibited passion, memories swimming in his mind - him and Louis lying against the grass, passing a joint back and forth and laughing, kissing and jerking each other off lazily, talking and talking and talking - as he continued to sing.

Louis wasn't looking at him anymore, his head having dropped as Harry sang, _'I miss your purple hair, I miss the way you taste,'_ and remaining downward as the song progressed. Zayn's eyes flickered between Louis and Harry carefully, before he'd excused himself to the bar with a pat on Louis' back. Harry's eyes followed him into the next chorus, watched as he slumped against the bar, dropping his head against Niall's shoulder. His expression was pained, and Harry could only assume he knew exactly what was going on.

As the song drew to a close, and Harry was belting the final, _'I know you're out there, somewhere out there,'_  Louis still hadn't looked up, and Harry was feeling increasingly overwhelmed. The memories just wouldn't _stop_ , no matter how hard he tried to bury them in his subconscious and just focus on the words. It didn't feel like he was doing this for himself anymore, didn't feel like he was up there and singing because it made him happy.

He had gone up there for himself and ended up singing for Louis, and that was absolutely nothing if not counterproductive.

The song finished, and Harry stood there, staring out at the audience with sweat gathered on his forehead and his heart laid bare, perched bloody and beating on the floor in front of him. When Louis finally looked up at him after minutes of no eye contact, his eyes were as blank and careless as ever, and that was suddenly too much for Harry to take.

His head and heart were pounding as he pushed himself off the stage and through the crowd, ignoring the familiar feminine voice shouting at him to come back. He stumbled toward the entrance, his body burning everywhere, absolutely everywhere, as he pushed through the door and walked to the very same spot he stood speaking to Liam earlier.

He paid no mind to the pair of eyes he felt singe the back of his skull.

Harry pressed his back against the brick wall and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in attempt to slow his racing heart. When he heard the door open and close a few feet away from him, he didn’t need to open his eyes to know what they’d be met with.

His breath hitched as he slowly lifted his eyelids. Louis was standing in front of him, as breathtakingly gorgeous as ever, his hair sticking up in messy spikes and the rim around his eyes as black as the night sky above them. Harry’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, his eyes flickering frantically across Louis’ face, from the contours of his cheekbones to the bitten pink stain of his lips. He was in the last state he wanted to be in when he saw Louis next.

Speechless.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, frozen in place by the intensity of Louis’ gaze. His face was calm and collected, but his eyes burned, fire consuming his pupils as he stepped closer to Harry. Harry attempted to retreat backward, but was met with hard brick slamming into his bones. He was sure he looked like he’d seen a ghost, his eyes wide and movements stagnant.

As Louis took a final step closer, till there was no more than an inch of space between them, Harry’s face went hot, flush spreading from his face all the way down to his chest, and he cursed himself for the way he couldn’t seem to stop being affected by Louis. He intended to end… this, whatever the fuck was going on between them, but how was he supposed to do that when all Louis was doing was breathing against his face and he was already half-hard in his jeans?

“What are you doing?” He said after a minute of tense silence, his voice surprisingly even.

Louis licked his lips and shrugged. He lifted his hand to grasp Harry’s jaw lightly and leaned closer, his warm breath puffing against Harry’s chin as he said lowly, “What you want.” He smelled of smoke and alcohol and weed, and so distinctly Louis.

Harry’s arms jerked as Louis covered Harry’s mouth with his, fingers tightening around Harry’s jaw, pulling downward to open his mouth and allow his tongue to slip inside. Harry’s fingers curled into fists against the wall, unclenching and clenching again as Louis slid his hands across Harry’s face and into his hair. Louis’ lips were slow and warm against his, and Harry was on fire, every inch of his skin burning passion and desire and anger and frustration toward the mess of a boy whose lips currently folded perfectly over his.

He wouldn’t allow himself to touch Louis; keeping his hands dutifully against the wall, because this was not supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to let Louis do this to him again, couldn’t, because nothing was going to change and it was always going to be just this and Harry wasn’t okay with it anymore. His brain screamed for him to stop while his body screamed more, aching for Louis’ touch and his mouth and his hands and everything about him.

Louis pulled back after a minute, lips even pinker than before, and rubbed his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip, eyes dark and hooded with calculating seductiveness.

That was when Harry’s brain screamed loud enough to break through his sudden, intrusive wall of arousal and weakness. “I can’t do this,” he said with finality, and then he bolted.

He wasn’t sure what instinct of his had told him to run, but that’s what he was doing: running. Away from the bar, away from Louis, down the street with shaky legs and no sense of direction. He heard Louis shout his name behind him, but didn’t stop, not even when he heard a pair of feet (obviously Louis’) slapping across the pavement behind him. He didn’t have to turn around to understand that Louis was chasing after him.

In a very twisted, very lovesick part of his brain, Harry was delighted that, for once, it was Louis who was chasing after him instead of the other way around, but the more dominant part - yet still no more logical - continued to chant ' _run, run, run_.' He was literally running on pure adrenaline at that point, and he was thankful it was so late at night and there were no pedestrians on the street, as he would’ve definitely bumped into every single one of them.

He could hear Louis yelling, “Harry, this is really stupid,” and “Harry, seriously, where the fuck are you going?”, but he didn’t stop, turning at every corner onto streets he’d never even heard of, the only thing keeping him going adrenaline and frustration and potent, aborted arousal. There was sweat seeping into his eyes and a heart hammering in his chest and a rough, scratchy voice in his ears, but Harry noticed none of it, focused only on the cold wind slapping against his face and the furious pad of his feet against the hard pavement.

Eventually, the momentum wore off, and Harry found himself stopping near a curb in front of a house. He hunched forward, panting and out of breath, clutching his knees as his head spun dizzily. He heard Louis skid to a halt beside him, clutching at his chest and sounding very much like he was in the middle of an asthma attack. Harry refused to care, stepping toward the curb and sitting down, inhaling deeply in attempt to catch his breath.

Louis sat next to him a few moments later, glaring at Harry, eyeliner smudged by sweat. "What," he said, his breath hitching around the word, "the fuck," another hitch, "was that?"

Harry stared at him for a few moments as his breath returned to him. He lifted his hands to rake through his curls roughly. "Louis," Harry said over a sigh, pressing his palms against his temples. “You can’t just kiss me like that whenever you want."

Louis stared at him in confusion. “Uh," he said, “Pretty sure that was our deal."

Harry’s head snapped toward him quick enough to cause whiplash, eyes wild and shining gold under the bright yellow street light. “Deal?" He said incredulously. “That’s what this is? A deal? Excuse me if I wasn’t aware. I don’t remember signing the paperwork." He pushed himself off the curb, running his hands through his curls and pacing before Louis, who sat staring at him dumbly.

"Maybe we should have wrote it down," he continued, blood boiling in anger toward Louis and his ever-persistent nonchalance. "Maybe then I'd be aware that the proper etiquette following a fight is to let you shove your tongue down my throat and pretend it never happened." Harry didn't care if he looked over-dramatic or crazy; he had a right to be angry. He hadn't wanted to fight with Louis, but if Louis wanted to act like a stubborn bastard, Harry was going to stick it to him as bluntly as he could.

"Well, what's your definition of proper etiquette then? Having a nice heart-to-heart?"

"You know, maybe if you spent less time mocking me for actually having feelings, we might be able to get somewhere. Have you ever thought of that?" Harry came to a halt in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as Louis' mouth curled around a sigh.

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he rolled his eyes, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his fags. "You wanna talk then?"

"Of course I want to talk, Louis, Jesus. I don't know if you've forgotten, but what happened the other week was a bit intense. It's not something I'm just gonna forget, okay?" When he noticed the way Louis' shoulders slumped and his throat bobbed hoarsely around a swallow, Harry knew he wasn't the only one who couldn't forget. "And I know you haven't either, right? You've been avoiding me since then. Don't even pretend you haven't been."

Louis stared at the sky for a moment, the light of the moon reflecting radiantly against the sheen of sweat along his angular cheekbones. Even when Harry could barely stand to look at him, Louis was still one of the most mesmerizing things he'd ever laid his eyes on. "I suppose," Louis said after a long moment, his gaze remaining upward even as he lifted his lighter toward the cigarette between his lips, "I thought it might be a tad awkward." He cleared his throat around the smoke, avoiding eye contact with Harry as he blew it to his left.

"Can't argue with you there," Harry said lowly, uncrossing his arms and shoving them in the pockets of his sweater. "Louis, we..." He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the weight of the words he was about to unveil. He closed his eyes and took another. "We had sex, and it - it wasn't supposed to happen."

Louis exhaled another drag and raised an eyebrow, making eye contact with Harry, finally. "So you regret it, then?"

Harry barked out a harsh, startled laugh. "Uh, yeah, a bit. Considering the circumstances." Louis stared up at him, a portrait of indifference and apathy, and Harry groaned. "God, Louis, you. You said some really shitty things, you do know that, right?"

"What?" He balked, eyebrows narrowing defensively. "Harry, you were the one that was being fucking unfair, yeah? You made a big deal because, what? I don't wanna be your boyfriend, I don't wanna hold your hand. That's your problem, not mine."

Harry's eyes and mouth dropped simultaneously. No. _No_. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Harry was beyond furious at this point. He forced himself to clench his fists around the material of his pockets to avoid thrusting it into the lamp post, or worse, Louis' face. "When did I ever say any of those things? Christ, Lou, you really are an arrogant sod, aren't you?" Louis opened his mouth to protest, his cigarette long forgotten and forming an impressive trail of ash at the tip. Harry waved him off and continued, too angry and frustrated and _done_ to care what he had to say.

"I've known from the beginning that's not what you wanted, all right? I'm not stupid, and I'd never force you to do something you didn't want, not that I ever thought you could be forced anyway." He didn't shout, kept his voice low and bitter but not angry. He didn't want this to turn into a shouting match, not when he had so much he needed to say. "I wasn't upset that you didn't want to be my boyfriend, for God's sake, I was upset because of the way you were treating me."

"And how, do tell," Louis said, gesturing with his hands and flicking the ash trail to his right, "was I treating you?"

"Like shit, to be perfectly honest. Honestly, Louis, despite all the stuff between us, the sex and all that, whatever you want to call it..." He felt defeat overtake him as he stared down at Louis' vacant expression, at his refusal to show any trace of emotion, and pulled his hands out of his pocket. He sighed as they slapped against his thighs, staring resolutely at the ground. "You're still the best mate I've ever had," he admitted, shaking his hair out of his face. "And I didn't want to ruin that by fighting with you, but goddamn it, Louis, you make it so hard sometimes. It's like you don't even want to admit we're friends."

Louis stared at his feet, his elbows resting on his knees and fingers tapping a rhythmless beat against the fabric of his jeans. With his other hand, he took one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground. It landed near Harry's feet, the cherry glowing bright and orange against the blackness that surrounded them. His defenses were still up, the brass locks and chains surrounding his heart and mind as sturdy and impenetrable as ever, but there was something.

Something in the way his eyes appeared slightly glazed when he lifted his eyes toward Harry, and it may have just been the light of the moon playing tricks on him, but all of a sudden Harry found it difficult to stay angry.

But he still wasn't finished talking, and he made sure that was clear to Louis, taking a daring step toward him and looking right into his eyes as he spoke. "I don't want to be made to feel stupid because I don't try to pretend you mean nothing to me. Because you don't." Louis cleared his throat and rubbed his nose, appearing slightly uncomfortable with Harry's admission. Harry barreled on. "Like I said, you're my best mate. I never asked for anything more than for you to acknowledge that maybe I'm not entirely insignificant." He paused, inhaling a slow, silent breath before finishing, "That maybe I'm not nothing."

With his soul finally laid bare and nothing left in his conscious brain to give, Harry sighed and slumped onto the curb beside Louis. He didn't bother looking at him, to gouge his reaction or otherwise, just sat with his hands in his lap and his eyes facing forward, a pleasant feeling of emptiness sitting hollow in the pit of his stomach.

Neither spoke for several long moments, and Harry was almost ready to believe Louis wouldn't say anything at all. This thought saddened him more so than it made him angry, because he knew, deep down, Louis had a lot to say, but that his own defenses and carefully guarded heart prevented him from expressing them. Harry had always known that, and it had always made him sad, made him want to hold Louis close and cradle his face and beg to know why he felt that way. Harry knew now that it wasn't his place to do such a thing, that it was Louis' choice, and the only thing he could do was worry about himself and how he fit into the world.

Unfortunately, when you're in love with someone, logic doesn't always get you exactly where you need to be.

The silence was broken when Louis sighed and shuffled closer to Harry on the curb. He placed his hand awkwardly on Harry's shoulder and gave it a few rough pats, and, when he spoke, Harry's heart stuttered violently in his chest. "You're not nothing."

His words were matter-of-fact, spoken with conviction, and Harry felt his cheeks flush as he tentatively tilted his head to see Louis' eyes. He didn't look away as blue met green, and rather tightened his hold on Harry's shoulder, before sliding it down to pat the space between his shoulder blades. Harry was shocked, utterly, genuinely floored, that three small, simple words could carry so much impact, so much meaning. A part of Harry cringed at himself for reacting so strongly to something that should have been obvious, that _was_ obvious, that, at the end of the day was probably one of the worst declarations of friendship he'd ever heard.

But the fact that they came from Louis - guarded, cynical, unfeeling Louis - and were uttered with such matter-of-fact sincerity and little hesitance, like maybe Louis wasn't ashamed to admit it, gave the words so much more levity, so much more heart and meaning that Harry was helpless against the soft smile that spread across his features.

"I'm sorry about the stuff I said, all right?" Louis said, breaking eye contact and staring at his hand, still rested on Harry's back. When he returned his gaze to Harry's face a few seconds later, his grin was mischievous. Harry's stomach fluttered. "Besides, do you really think I'd keep you around this long if I didn't at least think you were all right?"

He gave Harry a playful nudge in the ribs, and Harry laughed hoarsely. He fixed Louis with a warm smile, but frowned slightly when Louis looked down again, retracting his hand from Harry's back and raising it to scratch at his own neck. His guards were still up. "Uh," Harry said, clearing his throat, "look, Lou, I just... I think we should -"

"Just be friends?" Louis interrupted, smirking at him.

Harry gave him a puzzled look. "How'd you know?"

Louis shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another fag. He extended it toward Harry, who accepted it with a shrug of his own. "Just figured." He placed the thin cyllinder between his lips as Harry did, passing the lighter to Harry after lighting his own.

"Louis, you're..."

"I get it, Harry," Louis said, taking a long drag. "You don't need to explain yourself."

Harry sighed, eyeing him with a soft expression and shifting closer. "You're the best mate I've ever had, you know that?" Harry's eyes were wide and sincere. Louis scoffed, smirking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Don't take the piss, man, I mean it."

"I don't doubt you do," Louis said flatly, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"It's just. Sex complicated things, you know? It always does. We'd have no reason to be pissed at each other if we weren't, like, fooling around and stuff. I still want to be your friend, Louis."

Harry meant every word of it. He still wanted Louis in his life, didn't want to abandon the boy who'd been abandoned so often he no longer allowed himself to form attachments, and he wanted Louis to know that. No matter how much Louis had hurt him, and no matter how much Harry knew he had to create a life apart from him, Harry would always want Louis in his life.

He supposed it was a bit pathetic that, 'I wouldn't have kept you around if I didn't think you were all right,' was enough of a grand statement to melt his heart, but it was the thought that counted. The fact that Louis could swallow just enough of his pride to admit that, hey, maybe Harry didn't mean nothing to him, was quite a big step, and Harry was whole-heartedly willing to accept it.

"Can we do that, Lou?" Harry asked pleadingly, staring hard at Louis' temple. "Can we be friends?"

Louis didn't meet his eyes, not yet. He stared forward, lips pursed and twisted to the side in consideration, finishing the last few drags of his cigarette in silence as Harry waited.

When he finally looked at Harry, he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah," he said, his voice flat and rough, "yeah. I'm sure I could still fit you in my busy schedule, even if you are no longer sucking my dick." Harry's eyes widened in surprise, but then Louis was giving him a broad grin, punching him lightly on the shoulder, and he couldn't resist grinning back.

"We're okay?" He said hopefully, and when Louis nodded, he felt himself surge forward, throwing his arms around Louis' neck and pressing his forehead against his temple. The angle was awkward, Louis still facing forward as Harry hugged him from the side, and Louis laughed as he reached around Harry to pat him on the back.

"Yeah, Harry, we're okay." When Harry pulled back and gave him a beaming smile, Louis poked him in his left dimple and grinned.

"Soppy bastard."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets on with his life, meets someone at a party and Louis shows a side of himself Harry's seldom seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I promise it won't take me three months next time." Ha... ha ha... ha... So basically I have a very good explanation for taking this long; I started school in September, my sleeping schedule was balls and I was tired all the time and I ran into some health trouble that really took its toll on me and made it difficult to write. These troubles have been going on since before I posted the last chapter, which is why both of them took so long to write. But I've got most of that stuff sorted now and I've developed good writing habits, so I'm 95% sure the last chapters will come in much faster (only 95 because whenever I make promises I fail). ANYWAY, this chapter explores different sides of characters we already know and introduces a new one who proves very interesting. Read to find out what happens ;) Warning: this chapter contains Harry/other (more specifically, Harry/Ben Winston). I didn't want to spoil it but someone had a huge problem and told me I should've added a warning, so here it is.
> 
> Thank you to Noemie as usual for holding my hand and not letting me give up and going through the pain of torture of being my beta, you truly are my angel and I truly adore you. Thank you to everyone for being so patient (or impatient...) and hopefully it leaves up to your expectations. Feedback is lovely, you know. Enjoy!

For the first time in what felt like ages, Harry was feeling well and truly optimistic.

It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like he’d been suspended under water with rocks pinning him to the ocean floor for weeks, struggling to carry himself forward, and now he was coming up for air, breathing the oxygen into his lungs and bringing him back to life.

Finally able to focus on something other than where he stood with Louis, Harry was able to throw himself whole-heartedly into studying for his exams, passing each one with flying colours. His mind was clear and ready to focus, and despite a few all-nighters that left him entirely dependent on bitter coffee he couldn’t stand and haphazard naps throughout the day, Harry found himself utterly refreshed the day he walked out from his final exam - sociology - walking home with a bit of zip in his step.

On the first day of summer holidays, Harry spent all day in bed, waking up at three pm to a warm hug from his mum and a delicious brunch of French toast and an egg white omelet. She informed him of how happy and proud she was of him for nailing his exams, and they ate together in quiet, peaceful bliss on a surprisingly warm London afternoon.

There was just so much to be _happy_ about. He Skyped with Gemma on the night of his final exam and she had gleefully informed him she’d be coming to visit for a few weeks during July. Harry almost cried with how happy he was; it’d been nearly a year since he’d seen Gemma and he missed her terribly, despite their frequent Skype calls and occasional texts. 

And if he was just that little bit more excited when he found out she’d be gracing him with a (very late) birthday present, she didn’t have to know that.

His friendship with Cher continued to grow closer. On the third day of holidays, she came over and informed him she was hosting an end-of-term party at her house the following week, and he was most definitely coming, and they spent the entire afternoon singing pop songs in Harry’s room, only surfacing downstairs for cups of tea and chocolate biscuits his mum so graciously offered to prepare.

He got to see Nick on the fourth day, which was lovely since it’d been quite a while since they properly hung out, and Harry finally met his friend Aimee, a free-spirited, energetic girl with bright orange hair and rosy cheeks. She took an instant shine to Harry and they drove him into the city, taking him out to dinner and sneaking him glasses of wine under the nose of unsuspecting waiters. Harry giggled into his plate of chicken parmesan as Nick and Aimee bickered over the quality of Nick’s final radio broadcast of the term, and couldn’t contain his laughter at Nick’s outrage when he sided with Aimee, declaring it rubbish and uninspired, despite not having listened to a moment of it.

Harry felt lighter than he had in a long, long time and he finally felt like he was maybe, truly, finally finding his place. For the first time in quite possibly ever, Harry felt _confident_ , like he truly fit and belonged in his own skin. He was developing a solid group of friends who liked him for him, who didn’t tease him for his curly hair or his introspective nature or the fact that he was gay. It felt like he could finally free himself from the cage of apprehension he’d settled into so long ago, had moulded into a home for himself, and that maybe if he finally stepped out of that home, the foundation wouldn’t crumble and cave in on itself.

And then, of course, there was Louis.

There was always Louis.

Things were definitely different between them, but not worse, and truthfully, despite the drastic change in their relationship, how well things continued to go with Louis was a huge part of the reason Harry was feeling so good.

Sure, things weren’t perfect. There were still moments where Harry needed to remind himself not to touch, not to sink his fingers into Louis’ hair and lick into his mouth like he’d grown so used to, and yes, Harry was waking up to morning wood more often than not. After all, seizing sexual contact with someone after being dependent on it for so long was never going to be a seamless transition, and Harry’s hand definitely paled compared to the slick heat of Louis’ tongue, but he was getting used to it.

Things were surprisingly lacking in weirdness. Harry couldn’t stop being in love with him, couldn’t stop thinking about his mouth and his hands and the way his hair felt sliding between his fingers any more than he could jerk off using his left hand, but fortunately, Harry found he didn’t mind so much at the end of the day, as long as he still got to see Louis smile, no matter how rare that was, still got to simply breathe the same air as him, and Harry was quickly discovering that when you’re in love, truly in love, that can be enough.

Their friendship remained very much the same, which Harry would never stop being grateful for, the same teasing, the same banter, only with a rather jarring lack of sexuality, and their strange, inexplicable connection didn’t seem to strain despite the lack of it. 

Truthfully, it made Harry feel even more confident that Louis didn’t just keep him around for his hands and his mouth and his cock, that maybe he truly was one of Louis’ best friends just as much as Louis was one of his. Harry felt a bit silly for even questioning this; no matter how closed off Louis could be, and was, the time they spent together was never limited to just fooling around and they did have stuff in common other than sex, as surprising as that seemed to be to people (namely Gemma and Nick).

So two weeks had passed since Harry and Louis decided to be just friends and they still talked about music, they still smoked weed together and talked about whatever the fuck happened to come to their minds. Louis still moaned over how disgusting Zayn was becoming now that he and Perrie were official and Harry’s new friendships continued to flourish and the countdown until Gemma’s arrival officially began and the pieces of the puzzle of Harry’s life continued to fall into place.

And Harry felt truly, wonderfully content.

Whether or not it was too good to be true, however, remained to be seen.

*

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Harry inspected himself closely, realizing belatedly he’d been frozen in place for five whole minutes and, as such, making absolutely no progress on the appearance front.

His only fashion guide for Cher’s party, which he’d given himself, was: “Don’t look stupid.” Cher’s was a bit less helpful, telling him to just wear whatever he felt comfortable in. He’d been to a few parties before, but he’d never gone alone before, and although he would have Cher by his side, he was still determined to make a good impression. Harry didn’t care much about fitting in, normally, but he’d suffered just enough teasing in his younger years to understand how much it sucks, and blending in was very much desired.

He smoothed down the crinkles in the plaid button-up he’d chosen, black-and-white and short-sleeved, the buttons open over a white shirt. He wore stuff like this all the time and rarely had a problem. Check. On his lower half were a pair of dark wash jeans, fitted but not too tight, and his favourite, albeit very worn, brown boots on his feet. He pursed his lips, noting the boots looked a bit too light against the nearly black jeans. He bent down and pulled his pant legs over the ankles. When he stood once again, he liked the look much better. Check.

His hair was as thick and aimlessly curly as ever, falling across his forehead and curling against his ears and cheekbones. He’d gotten a haircut the other week, so they weren’t too unruly, and although they still made him look quite dorky, it was his hair and there was nothing he could do about it, lest he straighten it and wind up looking an even bigger fool. 

Harry had actually grown to like his hair and, if a certain person’s constant compliments and love of gripping it between their fingers, using it to pull him closer had anything to do with it, well, it wasn’t really that important.

With a final decision to leave his glasses at home (he didn’t really need them anyway; they were for nearsightedness, not complete vision), Harry nodded affirmatively, accepting his appearance and making a beeline for the stairs, where his mum was waiting for him at the bottom. She had agreed to drive him to the party, as long as he didn’t come home piss drunk with his pants around his ankles. Harry had smiled at her cheekily and said, “Where’s the fun in that?”, to which she rolled her eyes and told him to go get his skinny arse ready.

She dropped him off in front of Cher’s house with a kiss on the forehead and a ruffle of his hair, telling him to have fun but not too much. Harry smiled at her, muttering a quick, “I love you,” before tumbling out the door in a clumsy heap and, fortunately, landing on his feet.

Harry had kept his mind calculatingly blank on the ride over, refusing to allow nervousness to overcome him. He chatted jovially with his mum as she drove, smiling and laughing and the picture of affectless cool. 

Now that he was out of the car, without the warmth and safety of his mum to support him, Harry felt a sharp spike of apprehension coil in his belly, but surprisingly, not in a bad way.

It wasn’t the kind of nervousness that surfarced in the face of a life-or-death experience, nor the spine-tingling, heart-stopping fear before the leap of a bungee jump. This feeling was actually kind of… nice. 

Like the warm, fluttery feeling setting in your stomach before a date with someone you really fancy, the nervous pitter-patter and borderline nauseous swooping before the fall on a rollercoaster, Harry felt his nerves guiding him toward the party rather than away from it, the butterflies spiraling in his stomach almost intoxicating.

He was standing in front of Cher’s house, a rather average sized family home, dark brown and rust-coloured with a healthy garden of green grass covering the property. There was a swing set situated on the left side of her lawn, two worn-looking swings hanging about five inches apart and swinging slightly in the wind. The home was modest, nothing like Cher herself, and Harry found himself feeling surprisingly safe as he made his way to the front steps.

This was a good thing, he was already sure of it. 

Taking a final deep breath, a broad grin spreading across his features, Harry twisted the gleaming door knob and stepped inside. His vision was blurry as he closed the door behind him, and he momentarily cursed himself for leaving his glasses at home before he realized the blurriness before his eyes was smoke. 

The place was completely hotboxed; a thin, hazy screen clouding the room and blurring Harry’s vision. The smoke filled Harry’s lungs and he coughed suddenly as he removed his shoes, swatting at the air in an attempt to clear his path as he made his way into the party. The music blared ASAP Rocky’s ‘Wild for the Night’ all around him, the bass bouncing off the walls and filling his ears with static.

People crowded the main hallway, cigarettes in one hand and drink in the other, all but ignoring Harry as he made his way through the hoard of them and toward the living room, quite spacious and situated to the left of the stairs.

The room was large, clean and white, a beige sofa situated in the centre of the room with two armchairs sitting adjacent on either side of it. A group of jock-y looking guys occupied each seat, eyes plastered on the large TV on the wall to the far north of the room. They appeared to be fiercely enraptured in a game of Nazi Zombies - Harry could relate, he played the game on the regular and it was, as all video games were, extremely frustrating - uncaring and oblivious to the bowls of crisps and open cans of beer cluttering the table, fly-away chips surrounding the bowls and crunching on the carpet below their feet.

At the back of the sitting room, couples of boys and girls talked and leaned against each other flirtatiously. Harry found his eyes drawn to a particularly striking blonde girl twirling her hair between her fingers as a boy of stocky build with short brown hair and prickly stubble leaned over her, hand over her head against the wall. Her body language suggested she was very much interested; she dragged her sharp, blood-painted fingernails lightly across the muscles of his arm, a confident smirk traced across her pretty, sharply defined face. Harry found himself a bit mesmerized by the interaction, his gaze fixed on the way the boy keened and shivered beneath the graze of her nails, like it was the very action pumping blood through his veins. His muscles flexed and bulged beneath the fabric of his shirt, deeply affected, and Harry wasn’t sure how long he stared until a broad shoulder crushed into his, jolting him from his trance. The figure was gone before Harry could make out who it was, and with a final glance at the couple, who were now feverishly kissing, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, Harry shook his head and made his way toward the kitchen.

Like a predator and its prey.

Several loud grunts sounded from the kitchen, a high, girlish voice standing out in particular, and Harry grinned, pushing his way through the throng of people crowded by the door. He discovered Cher and a group of older-looking boys pushing a large ice luge from the backyard into the kitchen, a few boys whining about the frostbite while Cher barked at them to quit whinging and make themselves useful. The people around them cheered them on and, when the ice luge was finally situated in the centre of the kitchen, there were cheers all around.

Harry continued to grin, watching Cher stand up and wipe her wet fingers on her denim skirt, waiting for her to see him. She looked beautiful and glamorous, as she always did. Her hair was up in a tight, sleek, shiny sock bun, each hair slicked back and tucked tightly in place. Her eyes were bold, lined and winged with ink black liner with lashes that extended for days. Her lips were her typical shade of bold, matte red, stark and gorgeous against her pale skin, and her cheekbones sparkled with pale gold glitter. Finishing off the look with a sparkling line of pearls around her neck, a denim jacket and a flowy black and white shirt, she looked every bit the life of the party she was, and Harry couldn’t help but beam fondly with the knowledge that he, of all people, got to be her friend.

"Harry!" She called, startling Harry out of his trance. She pushed through the crowd of people, standing around the luge and awaiting the alcohol, with a bright, cheeky grin. "You know, with the way you were staring at me just then I think you may have swung my way for a second."

Harry barked out a loud laugh and accepted her hug gratefully, wrapping his arms around her small frame and clutching her to his chest briefly. “Don’t project your dreams onto me, Lloyd.”

She smiled and patted him on the back, leading him into the slightly less crowded hallway. “You all right, Haz?”

"Sure, why wouldn’t I be?"

"Hold on a second," she said, yelling a bit over the loud music. She leaned into him and lifted onto her toes to speak against his ear, "let’s go upstairs for a second, I can barely hear you."

She held him by the elbow and manoeuvred them through the hallway toward the stairs. They ascended them quickly, stopping by one of the many closed doors in the hallway and leaning against it. 

Cher was slightly out of breath when she spoke. “Anyway. How are you feeling about all of this, I meant? You feeling good?”

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding quickly. "I’m not a child, Cher, I can handle myself amongst the big boys."

"All right, no need to be a prat, I’m just checking. This isn’t really your scene, I just wanted to make sure you were cool." She paused then punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Dickhead."

He laughed. “Sorry, I’m just sick of people underestimating me, I guess. I’m a bit nervous but like. I’m not gonna throw up or anything.”

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted when the door they leaned on suddenly opened and she was sent tumbling into someone while Harry jumped back in surprise.

"Jesus Christ, watch - oh, Ben, there you are!"

Harry looked up at the figure exiting the bathroom and, _oh_. Okay. 

One of the best-looking teenagers Harry had ever seen was standing in front of them, a kind smile on his face as he wrapped an arm around Cher’s shoulder and pulled her against his side briefly. He was… fuck, wow, he was really fit. He was tall, taller than Harry, long and lean, with dark, rich brown eyes which thinned into cat-like slits with his smile. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and he had _facial hair_ , real, manly facial hair and that knowledge alone was beginning to make Harry sweat (so he had a thing for manly guys, sue him). He wore a simple t-shirt and a grey hoodie over a pair of black jeans, the ultimate picture of casual, but fuck if he didn’t overshadow every single person at this party, even Cher.

Harry’s mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty. His heart nearly burst out of his chest when he discovered Cher and the guy - Ben was his name - staring at him. Ben’s eyes were gleaming, mouth pulled into a smirk, and he appraised Harry with curiosity. Harry kept his composure, smiling pleasantly back with his hands clasped in front of him, although inside his heart was racing and he was starting to wonder if proximity boners were an actual thing.

Oh, God, Harry was definitely not going to survive tonight.

"Oh, God, where are my manners?" Cher said, untangling herself from Ben. "You two haven’t met."

Harry grinned, looking back at Ben, very, very good-looking Ben, who was currently, _most definitely_ checking him out. Shit, shit, shit. Refusing to let that affect him, he stuck out his hand in friendly greeting. “Harry Styles.”

Ben laughed good-naturedly and released his grip on Cher’s shoulder, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand. “Charmed,” he said with a grin. “Ben Winston.”

"Harry is my new best friend," Cher said brightly, moving to stand next to Harry. "And Ben is one of my oldest, so that means you two should become friends, right? It’s only logical."

"You’re not suggesting we have a threesome, are you?" Harry joked, impressed at how composed he was being. Normally, he was an anxious mess in front of hot guys, particularly guys as hot as Ben, who was not only hot but also probably gay given the way his eyes flickered up and down Harry’s figure, and Harry definitely should have been _freaking out_. But he wasn’t. He was actually okay.

"In your dreams, Styles. Stronger and _straighter_ men than you have failed at getting me in the sack, I’m not as much of a floozy as everyone makes me out to be." Harry laughed and glanced at Ben, who was still peering at Harry with interest. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should go help the chavs with the luge before they destroy my entire kitchen. Why don’t you two make friends?" She said pleasantly, tapping them both on the shoulder and bounding toward the stairs.

Left alone with Ben, Harry found his composure dwindling.

"She’s a real firecracker, isn’t she?" Ben said with a kind smile.

Harry chuckled nervously and moved to lean against the door next to Ben, absently picking at his fingernails. He’d claim it was a nervous habit, but really, it was to hide the fact that he was completely unable to drag his eyes away from the thick bulge of Ben’s biceps. Fuck him. “Yeah, really.” His stomach was fluttering wildly; Ben was nice and friendly and hot, and how was Harry meant to keep up with him? “So how d’you know Cher then? You look a bit old for college and I definitely would recognize you. From school, I mean.”

Ben smirked and lightly nudged Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Are you calling me old?”

Harry giggled - yeah, he definitely needed to work on that - and blushed, staring down at his nails to hide the growing rosy tint to his cheeks. “‘Course not. Just older than this lot, you know.”

"I know, I’m just busting your balls." Harry liked Ben’s voice, just a bit low and a lot friendly, his tone light enough to make Harry feel a little more at ease. "You’re very observant," he continued. "I’m visiting from uni, actually. Summer holidays starting and all. Me and Chez go way back, back when she was still stealing her mum’s lipstick and stuffing her bra." 

Harry couldn’t help the guffaw that escaped his lips, because he could _totally_ see little Cher sneaking into her mum’s bureau and trying on her brightest rouge, then standing in front of the mirror and prancing around like the little rock star she dreamed of becoming. Harry could see it, and he loved it. 

"She certainly loves her lipstick, doesn’t she?" Harry added, finding his nerves slowly beginning to dissipate. Maybe he wasn’t a total invalid when it came to social interactions, though he supposed he should have known that already. He was able to make friends in Louis, Nick, Cher and even Louis’ friends, and that was no small feat. 

"Yeah." There was a short pause, then Ben was saying, "Hey, do you want to go downstairs and get a drink? S’a bit cramped up here, in this tiny hallway."

Harry acquiesced and they made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Pushing through the crowd, which was currently surrounding a couple of kids sitting in front of the ice luge and slurping the drips of alcohol from the frozen surface, Ben politely manoeuvred his way between two kids in front of the fridge and pulled out two beers. He waved them at Harry, who smiled shyly as Ben moved back to meet him in the hallway.

"Parties not really your thing?" Ben said, raising his voice to speak over the loud music, which was now a very fast-paced rap song Harry had never heard before. 

Harry took the beer Ben handed him with a grateful nod. “What makes you say that?”

Ben shrugged. “You look a bit small, is all.” Harry furrowed his eyebrows, a bit offended, and Ben laughed, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “It wasn’t an insult, mate, just an observation. They’re not really my thing either, to be honest.”

"Then why are you here?" Harry shouted over the music. His throat felt hoarse and raw.

Ben smirked at him, though there was no trace of cockiness or threat anywhere in his eyes. Just a pure, gentle teasing that continued to make Harry feel remarkably at ease. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach fluttering hopelessly as he read the obvious invitation in Ben’s voice. His next words escaped his mouth like an exhale of air. “Do you want to go outside?”

Ben’s answering grin could have lit up the entire city of London. 

"Sure."

*

If you’d told Harry he’d be spending Cher’s party outside her house, on a childhood swing set, clutching a beer between his sweating palms and sharing the space with one of the hottest guys he’d ever seen, well, he’d probably tell you you had too much time on your hands.

But alas, there he was, sipping a cold one and chatting aimlessly with Ben Winston, a boy he hadn’t known existed 15 minutes before but was very glad to have found out, and everything was bliss, really.

"It’s so easy to feel young when I’m here," Ben said, clutching the gleaming metal chains. It was quite an amusing sight, watching fully grown, manly, bearded Ben sitting on a small swing set designed for a child, yet still quite… picturesque. Harry almost wanted to take a photograph.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, taking a long chug of beer. He was already almost halfway through and, although the buzz hadn’t settled in yet, he already felt pleasantly tingly and light, in the way that only being around someone you really liked could.

Perhaps it was a bit early to be feeling this way, Harry thought, or perhaps not. Maybe it was okay to like someone within moments of meeting them and maybe it wasn’t a bad thing to want to tell them all your secrets, just to see where they’ll take them.

"It’s like," he said, taking a few swigs of beer and sighing heavily, "me and Chez used to play out here, and on these swings, all the time when we were kids, you know? And now I feel quite old, now that I’m nearly 20 and in uni and all that." He looked contemplative and Harry was almost startled by how genuine he was, how open.

But maybe he just wasn’t used to people like that, people who weren’t afraid to leave a piece of themselves with mere strangers. People who didn’t consider those sort of things threats.

"Guess it just takes me back a little," he finished with a slight laugh. "Makes me feel like I can be a kid again." Following a slight pause, he grinned and dug the heel of his boots into the dirt beneath their feet, kicking off and swinging back and forth with manic glee. "See?" He said and Harry couldn’t help but laugh, nearly choking on a sip of beer.

"So what are you studying in uni, then?" Harry asked conversationally.

Ben dug his heels back into the ground, pulling himself to an unsteady stop. “Well, I _am_ studying English and history. It’s all bullshit, though, really. What I _really_ want to be,” he said enthusiastically, “is a movie producer.”

Harry was nearing the end of his beer, taking long, nervous gulps. Ben was really hot and he was also interested in Harry and actually talking to him and it was making Harry feel very, very giddy. The alcohol still wasn’t settling in, but Harry was already feeling brighter, bolder, like Ben could share something with him and he could share right back, because there didn’t have to be anything holding him back anymore.

"So, what about you, Harry?" 

"Hmm?" Harry said, a bit startled, suddenly realizing Ben had spoken to him and he hadn’t replied.

"What are you into then?"

Harry pursed his lips, taking his last sip of beer and letting the thought simmer in his brain for a moment before coming up with an answer. “Not too much, honestly,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m a bit boring, really.”

"Bullshit," Ben said loudly. Harry looked at him in confusion. "That’s not true. I  _know_ that’s not true. S’not possible for someone with dimples and a smile like that to be boring."

Harry blushed deep pink, his stomach flipping and fluttering and exploding with butterflies. His face felt hot, his insides even hotter; here was a boy, a boy who had no obligations to him whatsoever, who was kind, complimentary, open like he wanted to share himself with Harry and nobody else. Ben was kind and funny and open, and he made Harry want to share things about himself.

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he felt that way with anyone.

Not even Louis.

"Well," Ben said, standing up and looming over Harry, "looks like we both might need another beer. You want another?"

"Sure," Harry said with a cough, clearing the nervousness from his throat. He handed Ben the empty bottle, standing a little taller and looking him right in the eye. "What do you say to a game of 20 questions when you get back? Get to know each other a little bit?"

In the gleam of Ben’s wide smile, Harry found tattoos, a lip bitten pink with nervousness and a dingy smoker’s pit reflected back at him. 

_“I’ve got a better idea.”_

_“What?”_

_“20 questions. Back and forth.”_

"Old-fashioned," Ben said with a laugh, "but effective."

*

Three hours later and Harry was pleasantly drunk, Ben’s hand burning like a brand against Harry’s thigh, his laughter swirling in his ears like smoke.

20 questions escalated into 30 or 40 - or perhaps only 10, Harry hadn’t bothered to keep count - and another beer had turned into three, and the two had slowly gotten to know each other.

Harry learned that Ben was born and raised in London, though his parents were originally from Newcastle. He learned Ben was Jewish, his favourite bands were Coldplay and Muse (which had lead to a rather impassioned discussion regarding music) and his last relationship was with a girl named Ellie. He loved American bands and movies and his favourite director of all time was Ingmar Bergman. Harry had ignorantly responded, “Isn’t that an actress?” and Ben had only taken the piss out of him a little bit, kindly informing him the person he was thinking of was _Ingrid_ Bergman, amidst muffled chortles of laughter, and no, they were not related.

Harry told him of his roots in Holmes Chapel, of his close relationship with his mother and sister, who he loved but never saw. He revealed his favourite foods and his favourite songs and his favourite TV shows (they both loved Dexter; Harry’s favourite killer was Ice Truck, while Ben was much more fond of Trinity).

Eventually, reluctantly, when Ben asked Harry about his friends, he admitted Louis’ existence, describing his best friend as a rebel with a bit too many tattoos and piercings for a 19-year-old kid and a lot more cynicism. Ben seemed perplexed, stating he didn’t expect someone like Harry to be best friends with a punk, to which Harry agreed, stating that his life since moving to London had been a whirlwind of change and surprise he still wasn’t quite used to.

It was the first time he’d actually consciously thought of Louis all night. It evoked a strange feeling in him, one he was sure he’d felt before but couldn’t quite put his finger on. It almost felt like distance, almost like he was standing at one end of a bridge over a rippling ocean, with Louis standing at the other end, miles apart, and just as Harry moved to take a step forward, the bridge collapsed and tumbled into the wild water below.

It was strange, because Harry often felt like his life was irrevocably tied with Louis, like no matter where he strayed or what direction life pulled him in, Louis would always have that same vice grip over Harry’s heart, like Harry’s heart was the puppet and Louis the puppeteer. 

And maybe Ben wasn’t trying to cut the strings, of course not, and Harry wasn’t so fickle that he could brush aside his feelings for Louis after knowing someone for three hours, but in that moment, sitting with Ben, talking and laughing and sharing secrets over multiple beers, sitting atop years of childhood memories, Harry felt remarkably content and like, maybe, for once, he was not aching to be somewhere else, to be with someone else. 

He felt good, like somebody actually cared what he had to say and he didn’t have to hold anything back, and Harry was so wrapped up in it, in Ben’s warmth and his glow and his rosy cheeks beneath patches of stubble, that he found himself wanting to be closer.

They were still on the swings, both past tipsy and borderline drunk (they’d only made two more trips for beer, too engrossed in their conversation to bother returning to the chaos of the party), and Harry found himself slowly inching closer, until the tips of their feet were touching and his hand was slowly sliding around Ben’s back, resting there, unmoving.

And most surprisingly, he found Ben inching right back.

"You’re joking me!"

"I’m totally not, I swear. I would say Cher made me do it, but that would imply I didn’t enjoy it, which I definitely did. It was like, one of the craziest things I’ve ever done. I thought I was gonna pass out, but she was just like, so into it and so, I don’t know, magnetic, that it kinda made me not care. I didn’t even notice the crowd, it was so crazy!"

"If you’d told me that a few hours ago, I would never have believed you."

Harry was finishing their last beer, unpleasantly warm as it’d taken him about an hour to drink it, and somehow they had stumbled upon the topic of Harry’s performance at the school with Cher. Ben seemed both shocked and impressed, his eyes twinkling and mouth shining from the sip of beer he’d just taken.

Harry wanted to lick it off.

"If someone had told me before I moved here that I’d eventually do that, I doubt I’d have believed them either." Harry shook his head, a palpable churning settling in his stomach.

There it was again, that urge to tell this complete stranger things he couldn’t tell anyone else, and the little voice in the back of his head telling him it was perfectly okay.

"It’s a bit weird," he said, his voice a bit low and gruff in his ears, “‘cause like, I feel like I’m this completely different person than when I first moved here."

"I think it’s supposed to feel that way. You know, big move and all that, it’s like a new beginning and, I mean, Holmes Chapel to London is a pretty big change, I’d say." Ben’s voice was gentle and reassuring, his hand beginning to rub soft circles against Harry’s thigh. Harry shifted even closer.

"I’m not even sure how it happened. It was like, one day I was one person and the next I was another. I’ve done so many things this past year, and Christ, it hasn’t even been an entire year, I’ve done so many things I never would have done if I was still back home."

"Well, you never know, you may have. I’ve lived in London my whole life and I’ve changed a lot."

"I suppose," Harry digressed with a sigh. He placed his beer between his thighs and shifted his body so he was facing Ben on the swing. "I guess it just felt nice to, like, move to a place where nobody knew me. At my old school I felt kind of… I don’t know, invisible I guess." Ben’s expression fell, his eyes and the curve of his mouth sinking in sympathy, but Harry waved him off. "No, no, I don’t want sympathy, it’s just as much my fault as it was everyone else. I mean, yeah, I was ignored a bit and some people were mean, but at the end of the day I never tried hard enough to make friends."

"Why not?" Curiosity coloured Ben’s voice, the pitch coming out a bit higher.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged, "I was scared I guess. I was scared of life, a little. I didn’t take chances. I didn’t think I could ever be the kind of person that did."

"This is going to sound very primary school teacher of me, and I apologize, but never let your expectations for yourself hold you back. You thinking you’re not meant to do something, all that means is you’ve convinced yourself you can’t."

"See, that’s just it, that’s what I’ve learned." Harry’s voice was loud, emphatic in the quiet night. The party raged on behind them, all around them, but in that moment, they, Harry and this complete stranger, were the only two people in the world. "When I came here, nobody had any expectations of me. They didn’t expect me to play it safe, they didn’t underestimate me because of the way I looked or anything." Harry’s mouth said ‘they’, while his mind screamed Louis. Louis didn’t expect him to play it safe. Louis didn’t judge him by his glasses and the shy flush of his cheeks; Louis never underestimated him once.

"This year I’ve felt so free," he continued, fervent and heavy, "like I finally let myself be something other than what I’d always been and it’s felt… really good."

Ben smiled, trailing his hand from Harry’s thigh to his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “Still scary?”

Harry laughed, a little breathless. “Completely.” A smile slowly spread over his face, an odd sense of warmth curling in his stomach and lighting him up inside out. _Louis made all of this possible_. Louis never underestimated me. “But I guess I’m just… not scared of being scared anymore.”

Ben opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, the door behind them burst open. The sound of laughing and retching burst through the quiet night, and Ben and Harry’s heads jerked around in unison. There was a boy puking on the steps leading to the house, another group of boys, who Harry assumed were the boys’ friends, laughing at him and stumbling into each other drunkenly. 

They wailed nonsense, their voices shaky and overcome with laughter, and Ben chuckled along with them, but Harry zoned them out, his ears alert to the song he heard playing inside the house.

'Young Blood' by The Naked and Famous. One of Harry's favourite songs of all time, one that never failed to make him feel optimistic no matter how hard things got, no matter how much…

No matter how much Louis hurt him.

"I love this song," Harry said suddenly, to Ben, or maybe to himself. His eyes were out of focus, staring at the ground blindly as his heart began to race along to the music. He pulled the bottle from between his thighs absently and raised it to his lips. "It just gives, like, really positive vibes, you know?" Harry said, chuckling around a sip of beer. He wiped the bow of his lip with his sleeve and looked at Ben, mouth slowly curling into a pensive smile. "It reminds me a lot of myself. That I’m still young and that being young isn’t always a walk in the park, but that doesn’t make it less fantastic. I spent like, my entire life playing it safe, y’know? And for a long time, I thought that’d be all I ever knew. This song kinda reminds me that it doesn’t have to be like that. I can make my life whatever I want, if I’m not too scared to make it happen."

His cheeks flushed, realizing belatedly he’d been rambling. He caught Ben’s eyes again, lifting his eyes hesitantly, his breath catching in his throat at the way the moonlight reflected against Ben’s dark eyes, rendering them bright and sparkling and, more perplexingly, fond.

"You really are something, aren’t you, Harry Styles?"

Harry gulped, looking down then up to see Ben staring at him carefully, his brow furrowed and lips curled to the side in what appeared to be concentration. He planted his feet on the ground, halting the movement of the swing, and pushed himself to the side. Harry blinked several times as Ben moved closer, his body prickling with tense heat as Ben lifted his hand to press his thumb into Harry’s cheek.

"You really don’t know how great you are, do you?" Ben asked softly, stroking his thumb so lightly Harry barely felt it. He did feel the way his stomach flipped and his skin burned at the contact, the way he ached to be closer to Ben, to wrap his arms around him and live in the safe, uninhibited warmth he exuded.

Harry’s response was uttered barely above a whisper, “You don’t even know me,” but his eyes were sparkling under the moonlight, his dimple appearing beneath Ben’s thumb. 

Ben pressed down slightly harder, not enough to leave a dent, his gaze falling to Harry’s lips as his own mouth spread into a kind smile. “Perhaps I’d like to,” and that was the moment Harry’s skin was set on fire and every ounce of breath escaped his lungs, because Ben was leaning closer and closer until his mouth was covering Harry’s, and it felt so, so good.

His hands were soft and gentle as they brushed across Harry’s collarbones, his lips like velvet, cool and sensual. Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, overwhelmed with how simple and hot and good it felt. There was no question in his kiss, nothing hidden or kept at bay, no fear hidden behind the movement of his lips and the track of his hands. Harry had never been kissed like this, never in his entire life, and within seconds he was addicted, the heat from Ben’s palms as they trailed down his arms circulating like a shot of morphine to his veins.

Harry welcomed him with open arms and open lips because, although Harry had no interest in making this a common occurrence, Ben was warm and strong and hard around him, and he was nice and funny and smart and fit, and Harry deserved, just this one time, to set thinking aside and allow himself to enjoy it.

Ben’s fingertips skid lightly over Harry’s jaw, spreading sparks beneath his skin like matches. His brain was shrouded with fog, a thousand glistening stars beneath his eyelids, and no matter how much Harry’s subconscious crept to the surface, whispering that this was much, much too heated for a first meeting, Harry couldn’t find it within himself to resist. 

Ben was gentle, softly pressing his tongue against the seam of Harry’s lips, parting them carefully as he dragged his hands down to rest loosely against Harry’s neck. There was a somewhat subdued urgency to this kiss, like maybe Ben was trying to teach himself through touch what he already knew through words about Harry, his aspirations and thoughts and quirks. Harry was almost starstruck that Ben was curious enough about him to feel this way after a mere few hours of knowing him and it was so intoxicating Harry found his slightly tipsy fingers sinking into Ben’s hair, pulling him closer.

Harry had done his fair share of kissing by then, Will teaching him what to do, how to do it, and Louis showing him what it could do. He considered himself quite experienced, having been kissing Louis for over six months before they ended things, but he’d never kissed anyone like Ben. He was rugged and masculine, the gentleness of his touch alarming in contrast to the rough calloused feel of his hands, nothing like the surprising softness of Louis’. His facial hair was soft and feathery against Harry’s skin, unlike the rough scratch and scrape of Louis’ stubble on the days he didn’t shave. Kissing Ben was different, not bad, but different.

Fuck, what was he doing? Why was he comparing everything to Louis? He had a very nice, fit boy’s tongue down his throat currently and, instead of letting himself enjoy it, he was comparing the experience to Louis. That was something he pointedly needed to stop doing.

Harry ignored his train of thought and sank further into Ben, dragging the swing closer until their hips knocked and bumped and they were letting out low groans against each others’ chins. Harry deepened the kiss, relinquishing his hold on Ben’s hair and looping his arms around his neck.

_Just let yourself feel. Just this once._

 ”You’re so fucking hot,” Ben breathed roughly as he broke the kiss, dipping his head to kiss Harry’s neck.

Harry’s heart gave a painful, exhilarating lurch in his chest. “Me?” His voice came out in an embarrassing moan, his cheeks exploding with heat and colour, his subconscious chanting a chorus of Ben Ben Ben in what used to be Louis Louis Louis.

"Yeah," Ben said, as he returned his lips to cover Harry’s. "I know we just met," he murmured wetly against Harry’s bottom lip, causing Harry’s dick to twitch to life in his pants. Fuck, already. "I know we just met, but like. Fuck."

Harry groaned as Ben connected their lips once again, his reply of, “Me too”, lost in a hurried clash of teeth and tongue. It was completely surreal, being wanted like this by someone who wasn’t Louis, by someone who wasn’t calling on Harry for a convenient handjob because he was bored, who wanted Harry purely because he was Harry and he was attractive. That knowledge gave his dick another twitch and Harry was already half-hard, his dick beginning to strain against his tight jeans.

A flash of panic squirmed in Harry’s stomach, like butterflies, as Ben’s hands begin to drift lower, from his lower abdomen to his hips, a sudden cry of, ‘Where the hell is this going?’, echoing in his head like a scream. He was getting hard already and, although he couldn’t feel Ben, his kisses growing fevered and his hands were lowering, and all of this indicated to Harry that Ben wanted more. Was that something to be afraid of? 

God, was Ben looking for a random hook-up? Did he want Harry to suck him off and maybe return the favour and that’d be the end of it? Ben didn’t seem like that kind of guy, but then again, when did kindness ever factor into libido? Random hook-ups weren’t wrong, exactly, just not something Harry ever considered ideal. Even with Louis and Will and the casual nature of those relationships, they’d never been random, nor did they ever take place within hours of meeting and, Jesus Christ, never in front of someone’s house, at a party, sitting on their bloody childhood swing set.

Harry broke the kiss, his lips raw and wet. He dropped his head against Ben’s shoulder, panting into the soft material of his jacket. “Is this… are we really going to hook up on Cher’s front porch?”

There was a short pause, and then Ben was laughing against Harry’s hair, his breath hot against his scalp. “Very astute observation, Harry.” Harry lifted his head to meet Ben’s eyes, his stomach twisting in knots at the state of him; dark hair tousled and wild, eyes glassy and lips full and pink, the very picture of model perfection. How did Harry score this good? “Uh, I don’t really know what I’m doing, to be honest… I kinda just wanted to kiss you, so I did. And from the state of things, it doesn’t really look like you mind.” He glanced down at Harry’s crotch, expression bright with cheek, his eyebrows raised suggestively and lips twisted into a smirk.

Harry groaned just as much as he laughed and dropped his head back against Ben’s shoulders, digging his nails into his back. “Sorry, you’re just… you’re really fit. I can’t believe this is even happening, to be honest.”

"Hey," Ben said lightly, nudging Harry lightly against his ribs. "Give yourself more credit than that. You’re quite fit yourself."

Harry grinned against his shoulder. “Only quite?”

"Oh, you’ve got a cheeky side, have you? I like that."

 Harry sighed and lifted his head once again, his dick softening at the lack of contact. Thank God. “It’s just… I feel like, so comfortable around you? I don’t know if that’s weird to say. I mean it is weird, ‘cause I’ve known you like, a few hours.”

 ”S’not weird,” Ben said with a shrug. “It’s good, isn’t it? Hitting it off with someone right away?”

 ”Yeah, but like…” Harry laughed nervously, raking a jerky hand through his curls. “It usually doesn’t, erm, escalate this quickly. I’m not one for random hook-ups, you know?”

Ben nodded, his expression pensive, and allowed his swing to drift back to his side. “Neither am I, really. I’ve mostly had relationships. Like after my first girlfriend, I didn’t get laid until I started dating this guy a few months later.”

"Well, I guess since we just met and we’re not on a date, it’s okay to talk about our exes?"

"Why? You’ve got any?"

Harry’s heart clenched in his chest. “Um,” he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat into his fist. “Not exactly? I’ve never had a boyfriend, but…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing himself to think and speak about Louis. He’s not a threat anymore. You can talk about him. “Up until a little while ago, me and this guy, well… my best friend, the one I mentioned earlier…” Ben’s eyes widened, in recognition and slight confusion. “We were like… friends with benefits, I guess? Like we hung out and… you know.” He laughed and shook his head. “We’ve never even talked about it, I can’t even explain it.”

Ben eyed him narrowly. He looked surprised, but not disappointed. “I know hooking up and friends with benefits aren’t the same thing, but I didn’t think you’d be the type for that either.”

"I’m not really," Harry said, eyeing the ground with a wistful smile. "But when you’re crazy about someone it’s kinda hard to say no, no matter what the terms are, you know?"

Harry didn’t look up at Ben, but he heard him hum thoughtfully. It was silent for a few moments, but surprisingly lacking in awkwardness. Harry sat contently, allowing his mind to fall blank and savouring the way the night wind swept through his fringe and across his face, tickling his skin.

When Ben spoke, his voice was like a siren blaring through a dead, empty street. “Hey…”

Harry jerked into alertness, turning his head back toward Ben and dragging his swing closer again. “You know, you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I mean, like I told you before I was never really popular, you know, nobody ever paid me much attention, other than… my ex. So, like…” He bit his lip around a smile, blushing at the honesty of his word. “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re kinda amazing and it feels kinda amazing to be able to tell you that.” He broke off on a laugh. “I’m sorry, that was so corny, fuck.”

"No," Ben said, laughing and throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulder. "That was nice. I think you need to start giving yourself more credit though." He said it teasingly, not like an accusation. "Stop being surprised that people like you."

Harry swallowed thickly, mouth opening on a smile. “Thank you,” he said, and oh, what the hell, leaned over and kissed Ben on the mouth. Ben startled at the renewed contact, his lips parting and hand raising to cradle Harry’s jaw. Harry moaned softly in pleasure as their tongues brushed together, resting his hand on Ben’s hip and curling his fingers in his shirt. “Fuck, you’re a really good kisser,” Harry said as they broke apart. “Don’t wanna stop.”

Before Harry could go any further, his phone buzzed in his pocket for the first time all night.

"Shit," he said, leaving a hand on Ben’s hip and using the other to pull out the phone.

It was a text message from Louis.

_hey_ , it read. _where are u?_

Harry scratched the back of his head. Why was Louis texting him at two am?

"Who is that?" Harry heard from over his shoulder. He startled, jerking out of his confusion and looking over at Ben.

"Oh, it’s just Louis." At Ben’s blank stare, Harry chuckled. "Oh, he’s my… you know."

"Oh, the ex that wasn’t really an ex?" He said, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

"Yeah," Harry said, dragging his hand down to his neck and rubbing the top knob of his spine. He typed out a response one-handed - _at cher’s, there’s a party. why?_ \- then smiled at Ben, who sat waiting patiently. Harry stared at his phone until it dinged in notification of a new message just 20 seconds later - _a party? good lad. im at yours._

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “What is it?” Ben said, tapping absently at Harry’s shoulder.

"Uh," Harry said, momentarily dumbstruck. "He’s at my house. I don’t know why, he… yeah, I don’t know why."

"So you’ve got to go then, have you?" Harry turned to him, alarmed, but Ben looked understanding rather than annoyed. "It’s all right if you do, you know. He means more to you than I do."

Harry frowned, finding himself somewhat disappointed. He sat thinking for a moment; should he leave? Louis was at his house, waiting for him, and Louis rarely came over for no reason. He usually always texted him first to notify him. But… Harry really didn’t want to leave Ben. They’d had such a good time, and he was so nice and sweet and understanding. He looked at Harry like he was something special, even though they’d only known each other mere hours, and that was slightly addictive to Harry. To have someone utterly focused on him, even if just for a little bit, holding nothing back and unafraid to be nothing but completely real.

It was intoxicating.

"So you two are still friends, then?" Ben said, breaking the silence Harry was unaware had even formed between them.

Harry shook himself out of his reverie quickly. “Um, yeah,” he said. “We, uh. We were friends before, so like. It wasn’t that hard. I never like, got drunk and confessed my undying love for him, so. It wasn’t too awkward.”

Ben gave him a wry grin. “Is your love undying?”

Harry pursed his lips and considered the question. He voiced his honest answer. “If it’s enough to make me leave after making out with you… probably.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh, but Ben just smiled at him sincerely.

"You’re so honest."

Harry blushed, shrugging slightly. “S’the only way I know how to be.”

Ben smiled at him, a little wistfully, and reached out, tenderly brushing a stray curl from Harry’s forehead and giving his temple a light pat. “Well, as much as I don’t want you to go… I had like, a really good time talking to you…” He sighed. “See, this is why being the good guy isn’t always a nice thing.”

"It’s always a nice thing," Harry assured him, rubbing his thigh gently.

"Nah, it’s not, ‘cause I want you to stay but I’m gonna tell you to go, ‘cause this guy is clearly important to you and you should see him. He might need you."

Harry scoffed, running his fingers through his fringe and scratching roughly at his scalp. “He never does,” he murmured, though he still felt the pull, the pull to go to Louis and help him in any way he could.

Ben sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “All right, you clearly need to go…”

"I’m sorry -"

"Don’t be," Ben said, shaking his head with a laugh, "I mean it kinda sucks that I snogged you and now you’re running off for another guy, but I’m not broken-hearted here, so don’t worry about that. I just liked talking to you, is all."

"Me too," Harry admitted. "Really, it was great. I haven’t talked to somebody like this in a long time."

Ben smiled wanly and handed Harry his phone. “Here, put your number in here.” At Harry’s alarmed look, Ben quickly clarified, “It’s not a come on or anything, I’m not expecting anything, but like. If you ever want to talk, you know.”

Harry felt terrible leaving like this and he wasn’t even sure himself if he’d ever contact Ben again, but he typed in his number nonetheless, saving it under ‘Harry’ next to a smiley face. 

Handing the phone back to Ben, Harry bit his lip around the silence that overcame them and his head told him he should stay, that Ben didn’t deserve…

"I can tell you’re feeling bad," Ben laughed, startling Harry, "and don’t. Really, I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy." He leaned over and pressed a light kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips. "You’re cute, but not that cute." Ben winked and Harry choked on a guffaw.

"And I thought you were a nice guy," Harry murmured, shaking his head and standing up. For a moment it almost felt like he’d forgotten what he was leaving for, but of course he didn’t.

He could never forget Louis, no matter how hard he tried. And he didn’t want to try hard.

Mindlessly pulling at his fingers as he took a step away from the swing set, Harry thought, “What the hell”, and turned around, bending over to give Ben a final kiss on the lips.

"Thanks for being so nice to me," he said. "I had a really good time."

Ben smiled, standing up and shoving his hands lightly in his pockets. “You don’t have to thank me for being nice, Harry. Everyone should be nice.” With one last cheeky wink and smile, he took a step backwards and nodded. “I did as well, Harry, really.” He turned around to walk away, then stopped abruptly, turning around as if on the tail end of a thought. 

"And never think anyone deserves a gift for being nice. Just… never think you don’t deserve it." They exchanged small smiles and Harry’s heart fluttered with affection for the boy in front of him. Maybe he would text him after all. Why not? If anything, Louis and himself have proven friendship can remain completely normal and unaffected even if things happened to transcend beyond platonic at some point.

Louis. Right. 

With one final glance and wave at Ben, who began jogging back to the house, Harry set off into the night, the sound of his heart calling out to him almost deafening in his ears.

*

Upon arriving at his house, the last thing Harry expected to see was Louis sprawled out on the grass, his ears bare of headphones and a cigarette balanced between his lips. Harry was pink-cheeked and ruby-lipped from both the chill in the air and the alcohol in his veins (and maybe from several minutes of heated kissing), and he startled when he spotted Louis’ figure from a few feet away, quickening his pace and jogging toward Louis.

"Louis?" His breath came out foggy and bright white, stark against the darkness of the early morning, matching the thin wisps of smoke escaping the cherry of Louis’ cigarette. "What are you doing on the grass?" His voice was steady - he really hadn’t drunk that much - but rough and a bit hoarse. From having another boy’s - practically a _man’s_ \- tongue down his throat. Fuck, that had actually happened. His mind was still thrumming from the memory of it, of rough hands brushing his skin and course hair scraping against his skin.

Louis didn’t answer, pulling hard on the cigarette and finally removing it from between his lips. He lifted his head, pursing his lips and blowing three symmetrical smoke rings in the air, then quickly, swiftly snapped his fingers between the second one. The ring split in half, the two halves moving sideways and ascending above the fading top ring. As the smoke completely faded, Louis slowly lowered his head to the grass and took another methodical drag. He still said nothing.

Harry was quickly growing irritated; Louis had texted him, asking him to leave the party, the party where a very, very attractive, _older_ bloke was very much interested in snogging his face off, and Harry still wasn’t into casual hook-ups, but damn it, he was still horny and still buzzed and he’d left what could have been a great night for _this_?

"Look, Louis," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his brow, "is there a reason you came here or did you just want to use my grass as a mattress?" It was strange, being irritated with Louis like this. Harry was usually more than willing to provide Louis with company, but when Louis continued to say nothing, Harry found his patience growing thinner and thinner. "Christ, Lou, is the sky really that interesting?"

"I used to do this a lot when I was a kid," Louis said suddenly, nearly cutting Harry off. His voice was low, distant. Not to say that Louis was a very emotive person, but he was always a very expressive speaker. At that moment, he sounded a thousand light years away. "Stargaze, that is. Yeah, I used to be big on camping. My dad would take me, before the girls, before everything, really. It would be just me and him, just the boys. My mum would go stay with her sister or something, I didn’t know. Didn’t really care either."

Harry was mystified, staring down at Louis from beneath a tumble of unruly curls blowing into his vision from the soft wind. Where was this coming from? And why? Louis never talked about his childhood; in fact, Harry knew almost nothing about his father other than the fact that he was actually his step-father and he left a few years back. He didn’t know much about Louis’ relationship with him, only that he never really saw him anymore. That had always made Harry sad and he couldn’t deny he was curious to know exactly why that was.

He had no idea why Louis was deciding to share this and why now, at arse o’clock in the morning, on the grass in front of Harry’s house, of all places, but he quickly found himself intoxicated. His head was still a bit fuzzy from the alcohol, but every word sunk in, and Harry drank it in like a man stranded in the desert stumbling upon a sparkling oasis.

Louis was standing now, pushing himself off the ground with one hand and throwing aside his cigarette with the other. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, kicking at the grass with his scuffed Vans. He faced away from Harry, the curves of his body edged in moonlight and shining stars in Harry’s eyes. 

"He only took me once a year, for a couple nights. It was nice, he told me he always took me when he knew the stars would shine the brightest. I never knew what the fuck that meant," he said with a chuckle, "still don’t. I mean, how the fuck is someone supposed to know when the stars will be out?" He shrugged and Harry continued to watch him, his face scrunched in concentration as he took in every detail. The wind blew through Louis’ hair, soft and unstyled, and Harry knew if Louis was facing him, the metal in Louis’ face would be glowing. Harry thought he’d look like an angel.

Although Louis spoke with no infliction, his words clearly came from a place of vulnerability, perhaps buried so deep within Louis, barricaded behind so many locks and chains, he could no longer speak of it in any other way. 

"Anyway," he sighed, lifting a hand from his pocket to brush his fringe from his eyes, and Harry suddenly ached to touch him, any frustration he’d previously felt dissipating into urgent love and care for the boy in front of him. "We always did like, standard lad stuff. Played football, talked about football…"

"I didn’t know you liked football," Harry’s voice came out high and reedy, foreign and distant in his ears. He didn’t even realize he’d spoken until Louis finally glanced back at him and gave a small shrug.

"I don’t play anymore." If Harry didn’t think he was grasping for straws, he’d swear he heard a note of bitterness in Louis’ voice. He continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. "We’d make a fire and roast hot dogs and all that, y’know, manly things. I liked comic books, so he’d talk to me about that. When I was like eight, he asked me if I thought about girls yet." Harry couldn’t hold back a snort at that and Louis echoed the sound quietly. "He realized his mistake, eventually." He paused for several moments and, if Harry could see his face, he was sure he’d be able to see him thinking.

His heart beat was steady and slow, but when Louis spoke again, it lurched painfully, tightening at the sombre sound of his voice. He was beginning to feel guilty about his early annoyance. Of course, there was something bothering Louis. He never came over unannounced, or at least before he’d informed Harry, usually prompting him with a text saying, _coming over, let’s get high_ , or _can’t wait to get your mouth on me_ (not anymore, of course). Harry should have known something was wrong.

Although… it wasn’t like he should have expected Louis to open up to him like this. He never did, had done so maybe twice in their entire friendship. He had a right to be surprised.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Louis’ voice, sounding closer than it did before. He blinked and discovered Louis was now facing him, a few feet away, his eyes a breathtaking blue in the moonlight. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, mesmerized by this beautiful, unattainable boy in front of him, suddenly longing for him to be close, but not to kiss him. Not now.

Harry wanted more than anything not a kiss, nor a frantic shag behind the closed doors of his bedroom. What he wanted was to put his hand on Louis’ shoulder and squeeze, lean into him and whisper in his ear, ‘You can _tell me anything_. You could never make me leave.’

"Before we’d go to sleep, in this dodgy little tent neither of us even knew how to set up, he’d make me watch the stars with him. I always thought it was fucking stupid. Like it’s just a bunch of dots in the sky and it’s not like you can ever see them up close, so what’s the point? They’re stupid. But my dad was proper fascinated with them." He turned away from Harry, his side facing him, and raised his hand to the sky, pointing. Harry lifted his eyes to watch him, but found his gaze quickly drawn back to Louis’ face. Just like it always was. He focused on the glinting metal on his cheekbone, memorizing the way it dulled as Louis turned his head and lit up again. Beautiful, confusing, a lot like Louis himself. 

"He told me if I looked hard enough, I could make any shape I wanted, by connecting the dots. I always thought he was full of shit." His hand dropped, slamming against his thigh with a harsh smack. The sound was almost grotesque in the quietness that wrapped around him and Harry found himself wincing. "He said something else about them. He told me that if I ever felt lost, or like I didn’t know where I was going, to just look at the stars. Said they’d guide me or some shit." He ducked his head and laughed, shaking his head. His expression was sad. "Come to think of it, I’m quite sure those are Coldplay lyrics, and I don’t think that song was out when I was that age, so pretty sure whoever wrote that was a thief."

Harry felt impossibly sad, the nostalgia and distance in Louis’ words sitting heavily in his gut, but the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth remained. Louis had never heard a Coldplay song before Harry had forced him to listen to ‘A Rush of Blood to the Head’, Harry’s favourite album of all time.

"He said to remember that the universe was ‘infinite’." He said the word bombastically, stretching his arms out as if presenting the title of a Broadway production. "That even if I gave up, it never would." He dropped his hands again, his eyes turning melancholy and studious. Harry took a cautious step forward, his own eyes wide and searching. "I believed him. Like I trusted both him and the stars, you know. That sounds stupid as fuck, doesn’t it?"

It was the first time Louis asked him to speak in the entire duration of the conversation and Harry jumped at the opportunity. Literally jumped, as he was suddenly half a foot closer to Louis, with his hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “No, it’s not stupid,” he said urgently. “Kids believe fantastical stuff, Louis, and that isn’t even fantastical. Not really. It makes sense.” There was still alcohol running through his veins, but Harry swore he’d never felt so sober.

"That was before everything," he said with a sigh. He didn’t shrug Harry’s hand away. "Before the girls. Before he fucked off and left my mum with everything. Before…" He paused, scratching his nose and sniffling slightly.

"Before what?" Harry said, his eyes so wide he was afraid they’d fall out of his head any moment.

"It doesn’t matter now." He sounded defeated, fiddling with the metal pierced through his eyebrow. "That part of my life is over."

"It doesn’t have to be," Harry said, his voice barely over a whisper.

"Right." 

Silence overtook them and Louis turned away from Harry again, pulling his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and sticking one between his lips. As he lit it, Harry’s chest heaved up and down heavily, his eyes burning into the back of Louis’ head. His heart was pounding with questions, but his mind was nothing but static.

"Why’d you tell me all that stuff?" He said, his voice winded and breathless, as if he’d just chased Louis around the block twice, when, really, there’d been no chasing at all. Louis had told Harry these things on his own accord and that was enough to make it hard to breathe.

Louis turned back to him, his face blank, but there was a fierceness in his eyes Harry wasn’t sure what to make of. He took a long drag and blew the smoke toward the ground, giving a small shrug. “I don’t know.” He shrugged one shoulder, wiping at his cheek with his other hand. “I don’t know.” 

He began to flex his fingers and that’s when Harry finally saw, under a strip of moonlight, the dark purple marks staining Louis’ knuckles. He gasped, frantically gazing up at Louis and back at his hand, and when he caught Louis’ eyes, Louis’ expression said, ‘Don’t’. 

All Harry wanted to ask was, ‘ _Why? Why the bruises? Why the stars? Why did you tell me this? What are you doing?_ ’, but the only thing he could feel was Louis, how big of a step it was that Louis even told him any of this, and suddenly he couldn’t bring himself to press. It felt like he was standing in front of Louis, receiving multiple blows to his gut meant for him, only he wasn’t the one feeling any pain.

Louis finished his cigarette and tossed it to the ground. He looked at Harry carefully, his windswept hair hiding his eyes. Harry inhaled a shuddery breath, almost painful in his lungs, and stepped toward Louis, stopping just a few inches in front of him. Louis didn’t flinch, showed no visible reaction to the proximity.

Harry’s heart was beating hard against his ribcage, but he soldiered through it, leaning forward and pressing a lingering kiss against Louis’ cheek. He closed his eyes and held his lips there for a few moments, pulling back with a soft smack. He held Louis’ hand in his own, curling Louis’ fingers against his palm to expose his knuckles. Swallowing lightly, he lifted his hand toward Louis’ face and softly brushed Louis’ bruised knuckles against the spot he’d just kissed. 

Harry was nervous for Louis’ response to the tender gesture, but when he looked up, Louis was already lowering himself back onto the grass. He laid on his back, stapling his fingers together across his stomach and staring up at the sky. He didn’t look at Harry.

The static in his mind replaced with so much care and love he could burst with it, Harry laid down next to Louis, watching the side of his face, tempted to reach out and trace the sharp jut of his cheekbone with his finger. Trace it down to his jaw and tuck his hair behind his ear. Maybe kiss his cheek again and cuddle into his side, tell him the stars could still come through for him if he let them.

Instead, he reached over to unclench Louis’ fingers and softly, hesitantly, laced their fingers together and laid them against the grass. His touch said, ‘ _I’m here, I’m your friend, trust me_ ’, and although Louis didn’t respond for several moments, Harry soon felt the soft brush of his fingertips against his knuckles, and looked down to see Louis no longer resisting Harry’s grip.

He laid there, his hand clasped loosely around that of his best friend and his worst enemy, the one who was both his greatest strength and heaviest weakness. For Harry, this moment held no danger and, as he allowed his eyes to slip shut, he hoped that maybe, just this once, Louis would no longer will it to hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: volouminous


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